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T    ARBURTOJHURTLEF 


GIFT  OF 
Mrs.  Emepsson 


Po 


E-MS 


BY 

ERNEST   WARBURTON    SHURTLEFF 

h 

WITH  AN  INTRODUCTION 
BY    HEZEKIAH    BUTTERWORTH 


BOS  TON'  ' 

A.    WILLIAMS    AND   COMPANY 

©Itr  Corner  ISoofetore 

1883 


Copyright,  1882, 
BY  ERNEST  WARBURTON  SHURTLEFF. 


UNIVERSITY  PRESS  : 
JOHN  WILSON  AND  SON,  CAMBRIDGE. 


Co 


TN  morning*  s  golden  smile  there  is  a  power 

That  gives  a  music  to  the  songster's  tongue, 
That  opens  every  dew-bespangled  flower, 

Where,  like  embodied  joys  on  wings  of  pleasure  hung, 
The  butterflies,  bright  spirits  of  the  glowing  hour, 
Drink  the  sweet  nectar  from  the  cups  of  Fiord's  bower, 

And  fall  like  drifting  leaves  the  daisied  nooks  among. 
If  of  the  early  verses  that  have  grown 

Like  wild  flowers,  petaled  with  but  simple  thought, 
From  out  my  mind,  there  be  one  that  is  shown 

To  bear  such  form  and  hues  as  Nature's  brush  has  taught, 
If  but  the  shadow  of  a  butterfly  be  known 
Upon  my  page,  or  song  of  bird,  are  they  my  own  ? 

Lo  !  from  my  mother's  smile,  like  mornings,  they  were 
caught  ! 


M44465 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

INTRODUCTION 9 

CONSOLATION 15 

THE  RAINBOW  . 35 

A  DREAM  OF  CHILDREN 38 

GOLD  AND  SHADE 41 

THE  BRIGHT  REAPER 43 

SONG  OF  AUTUMN 45 

THE  SLEEPING  SHEPHERD 48 

GRANDMOTHER 50 

OCTOBER 52 

MORNING  AND  EVENING 54 

CUPID  AT  THE  GATE 57 

To  A  CLOUD 61 

LITTLE  SCHOOLHOUSE  IN  THE  GLADE 64 

THE  NIGHTINGALE .68 


6  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

HYMN  OF  THE  DEEP 72 

AUTUMN  COLORS 77 

MINUTE  SONGS     . . 80 

SUMMER  MORNING 84 

A  WINTER  SCENE 86 

To  THE  EVENING  STAR 89 

THE  SHADOW-BOATMAN 91 

NIGHT 96 

"VOICES  OF  THE  NIGHT" 98 

HIDDEN  Music 101 

A  VISION  OF  Music    . 102 

THE  WINTER  PILGRIM 108 

SONNETS. 

IN   THE   WTOODS 117 

MY  PLAYMATE nS 

OUT  OF  THE  DARK 119 

THE  MEMORY  OF  PLEASURE 120 

A  PORTRAIT 121 

BY  THE  FIRESIDE 122 

LIFE  AND  DEATH 123 


CONTENTS.  7 

PAGE 

ALONE 124 

DREAMLAND 125 

IN  WAVERLEY 126 

MY  MOTHER'S  PORTRAIT 127 

SUMMER  IN  WINTER 128 

THE  SNOWSTORM 129 

SUNSET 130 

A  HOPE 131 

BY  THE  SEA 132 

To  A  CAPTIVE  BIRD .    .  133 

THE  SKIES 134 

A  RAINY  NIGHT  IN  THE  CITY 135 

A  WINTER  NIGHT  IN  NEW  HAMPSHIRE 136 

SOUL  HARMONY 137 

To  SLEEP 138 

SCULPTURE 139 

LIGHT  AND  SHADOW 140 

To  SILENCE 141 


INTRODUCTION. 


HE  poems'  between  these  covers  might  not 
inaptly  be  termed  a  bouquet  of  wild  flowers 
plucked  by  a  young  hand.  Most  of  them 
have  the  colorings  of  nature,  and  breathe  of  the  woods 
and  fields. 

They  were  written  by  a  young  author,  between  seven- 
teen and  twenty  years  of  age,  —  some  of  them  amid  the 
duties  of  school-life  in  the  city,  but  many  of  them  in 
vacation  days,  among  the  woods  and  hills  near  the  old 
Waverley  Oaks  in  Waltham.  Most  of  the  short  poems 
have  appeared  in  periodicals. 

Their  collection  in  permanent  form  has  been  advised 
by  the  editors  of  the  publications  in  which  they  have 
appeared.  So  many  of  our  poets  belong  to  the  purely 
imaginative  school,  that  it  has  been  pleasing  to  encourage 
a  young  artist,  working  on  the  models  of  the  old  English 
pastoral  poets,  and  whose  studio,  like  Bloomfield's  and 
Clare's,  has  been  among  the  fields,  birds,  and  flowers. 
These  poems  have  given  pleasure  to  the  editors  who  have 


10  INTRODUCTION. 


accepted  them,  and  to  those  who  have  read  them,  because 
they  are  believed  to  be  true  to  nature,  vividly  to  recall 
the  greenery  of  the  hills  and  the  music  of  the  birds  and 
streams,  and  delicately  to  interpret  the  voice  and  spiritual 
symbols  of  the  world  of  beauty  around  us. 

The  fine  and  subtile  spirituality  of  thought  and, feeling 
that  follows  the  study  of  nature  is  an  influence  that  lifts 
the  soul  into  clear  views  of  life's  possibilities  and  purposes. 
The  lark,  that  rises  over  the  woodlands  to  sing,  poises  its 
wing  in  an  intenser  light  than  falls  upon  the  earth,  and  is 
made  happy  in  a  brighter  and  wider  atmosphere.  If  a 
man  would  become  an  artist,  was  the  teaching  of  Wash- 
ington Allston,  let  his  associations  be  true,  for  Nature 
does  not  reveal  her  mysteries  to  a  mind  clouded  by  any 
shadow  that  breaks  her  light.  The  society  of  nature 
leads  to  spiritual  habits  of  thought.  In  this  Palace  of 
Truth,  in  these  gardens  of  the  Celestial  Temple,  one  is 
able  to  penetrate  many  of  the  mysteries  of  spiritual  life 
and  happiness.  In  this  treasury  one  may  find  the  gold  of 
God.  Keats  not  only  found  his  soul  drawn  heavenward 
by  such  communion,  but  even  imagined  he  could  feel  the 
daisies  growing  over  him.  And  another  poet,  who  loveth 
the  woods,  fields,  and  skies,  exclaimed  — 

"  The  stars  are  but  the  shining  dust 

Of  my  divine  abode, 

The  pavements  of  those  heavenly  courts 
Where  I  shall  dwell  with  God." 


INTRO D UCTION.  1 1 

The  pastoral  poetry  of  England  is  one  of  the  best 
influences  of  literature,  and  much  of  it  has  been  written 
by  young  pens.  The  most  cordial  wishes  for  success 
will  follow  the  young  writer  whose  taste  leads  him 
to  this  healthful  school.  "  A  writer  who  makes  this 
school  of  poets  his  model,"  said  an  editor  of  experience, 
"  should,  if  he  have  promise,  receive  the  most  cordial 
appreciation." 

For  these  reasons  the  friends  of  the  young  author  of 
this  volume  have  asked  that  these  flowers  of  verse  be 
collected,  and  pressed  between  these  covers,  that  the 
pleasure  that  they  have  taken  in  them  may  be  shared 
by  others  of  like  sentiments  and  tastes. 

HEZEKIAH   BUTTERWORTH. 

BOSTON,  November,  1882. 


POEMS. 

9 


POEMS. 


CONSOLATION. 
A    POEM    OF    LIFE. 

PROLOGUE. 

HEN  through  the  breaking  clouds  the  glorious 

sun 

Presages  that  the  course  of  storms  is  done, 
And,  from  his  clearing  throne  of  azure  bright, 
Floods  ether's  boundless  fields  with  streams  of  light, 
How  gently  steals  his  flush  along  the  glade, 
How  softly  fleets  away  each  dusky  shade  ! 
He  turns  his  gaze  on  Nature's  tearful  face, 
And  lo,  her  brow  is  bright  with  dazzling  grace  ! 
She  throws  the  veil  of  darkness  from  her  form, 
And  Heaven  smiles  upon  the  passing  storm ; 


1 6  CONSOLATION. 

While,  floating  on  the  mist  of  distant  skies, 
Like  some  celestial  path  to  Paradise, 
c<The  arching 'rainbow  spans  the  melting  haze, 
•  j/;A^d,  lifts. on.  high  its  pure  celestial  rays. 
Thus  Consolation,  with  a  hallowed  power, 
Dispels  the  storm  of  Life's  tempestuous  hour,  — 
Lifts  every  shade  of  sorrow,  lulls  the  fears, 
And  smiles  upon  the  cloud  of  melting  tears, 
Till  Hope,  the  rainbow,  glows  with  promise  bright, 
And  gilds  the  Future  with  a  smile  of  light. 

PART   FIRST. 


WHATE'ER  our  earthly  lot,  whate'er  our  fame, 
More  days  have  we  than  happiness  can  claim ; 
In  every  life  is  found  some  lingering  shade, 
On  every  heart  some  burning  load  is  laid. 
As  fades  the  sweetest  flower  for  want  of  rain, 


CONSOLATION.  1 7 

So  without  sorrow  lives  the  soul  in  vain. 

More  cares  than  pearls  bedeck  the  monarch's  throne  ; 

Who  smiles  in  public,  weeps  when  he  's  alone. 

And  yet  a  purpose  glorious  and  wise 

In  every  transient  joy  or  sorrow  lies  ; 

Know  then  that  He,  whose  wisdom  is  His  might, 

Has  framed  and  planned  His  noblest  work  aright. 

SONG. 

THE  golden  promise  of  the  bright  to-morrow 

Sleeps  in  the  midnight  skies ; 
Thus  hidden  in  the  depths  of  every  sorrow 

An  unseen  gladness  lies. 

Ah  blind  !  we  see  not,  in  the  earth's  dark  bosom, 

The  flower  that  shall  bloom  ; 
Nor  heed  how  Nature's  fairest  graces  blossom 

Out  of  the  mould  and  gloom  ; 


1 8  CONSOLATION. 

Yet  He  who  fosters  earth  with  all  her  sweetness, 

Holds,  with  unfailing  care, 
O'er  our  frail  lives  those  laws  with  equal  meetness 

That  make  His  flowers  fair. 

II. 

WHY  is  it  that  the  sweetest  songs  we  hear 
Draw  from  the  soul  the  homage  of  a  tear? 
Does  Sorrow  thus  her  burdened  mind  relieve, 
Through  Pleasure's  smiling  halls  her  fears  receive  ? 
Or  does  she  paint  some  picture  on  the  heart 
That  bids  the  truant  tear  in  secret  start  ? 
Ah  no  !  thus  Joy  finds  language  in  her  tears, 
The  dearest  fruit  her  bower  of  beauty  rears. 
And  by  this  common  tie,  this  common  chain, 
Our  pleasures  are  united  to  our  pain. 

As  Nature,  from  the  bosom  of  her  fields, 
The  various  flowers  and  weeds  together  yields, 


CONSOLATION. 

As  by  the  thorn  the  dainty  daisy  grows, 
And  by  the  nettle  springs  the  tender  rose  j 
So  do  the  hopes  and  fears  of  life  abide, 
Like  weeds  and  precious  flowers,  side  by  side. 
To  find  our  pleasure  we  must  pass  the  thorn, 
To  pluck  its  sweetness,  by  the  briar  be  torn. 

Life  is  a  path  that  lies  'twixt  joy  and  pain, 
Now  bright  with  sunny  skies,  now  dark  with  rain ; 
E'en  in  our  woe  we  know  that  pleasure  nears, 
E'en  in  our  joy  our  eyes  are  filled  with  tears. 


SONG. 

IN  every  tear  that  falls  there  is  a  blessing 

That  gives  the  heart  relief; 
For  Sorrow  thus,  her  own  sad  soul  caressing, 
Restrains  her  grief. 


20  CONSOLA  TION. 

Yet  often  where  the  step  of  Pleasure  lingers 

The  heart's  warm  fountain  flows, 
While  Memory  charms  her  lyre  with  gentle  fingers 
At  evening's  close. 

Flow  on,  sweet  tears  !  ye  are  the  dews  of  gladness, 

Though  ye  may  spring  from  grief; 
And  even  when  ye  wash  the  cheeks  of  sadness 
Ye  give  relief. 

III. 

ALAS,  our  changing  hopes  in  life  pursue 
The  object  Fancy  paints  with  brightest  hue  ! 
She  hears  the  approaching  footstep  as  it  falls 
Along  the  unknown  Future's  mystic  halls, 
And  paints  the  scenes  her  pregnant  eyes  behold, 
With  stripes  of  sombre  black  or  streams  of  gold ; 
Until  delusion,  like  the  butterfly, 
Unfolds  its  dazzling  wings  before  the  eye, 


CON  SO  LA  TIOJV.  2 1 

And  leads  the  eager  heart  from  place  to  place, 
Upon  its  vain,  unprofitable  chase. 

The  hope  that  soars  upon  the  fairest  wings 
Oft  to  the  soul  the  smallest  blessing  brings  ; 
And  disappointment,  with  its  bitter  pangs, 
Above  the  ambitious  mind  forever  hangs. 
From  sinking  hopes  foreboded  ills  arise, 
As  sinking  suns  leave  darkness  on  the  skies. 
Ambition  leads  our  hopes,  like  birds  that  stray, 
From  many  a  nest  that  hangs  by  home's  fair  way ; 
And  say,  when  may  those  hopes  returning  come 
To  build  again  beneath  the  eaves  of  home  ? 

This  constant  striving  after  dearer  things 
Prunes  all  affection  from  their  listless  wings, 
They  wander  homeless  in  some  foreign  clime, 
Like  helpless  motes  tossed  on  the  winds  of  Time ; 


2  2  CONSOLA  TION. 

The  distant  gales  that  sweep  their  native  bough 
Find  all  their  former  nests  deserted  now, 
And  there  the  rain  beats,  pitiless  and  chill, 
And  there  the  sighing  winds  are  never  still. 
T  were  better  that  contentment  warm  the  nest 
Where  only  lowly  thoughts  and  wishes  rest, 
Than,  leaving,  make  that  humble  dwelling  bare, 
And  give  to  Death  the  sweetest  pleasures  there. 

Oh  that  some  simple  spirit  might  infest 

With  sovereign  sway  the  wants  of  mortal  breast ! 

Oh  that  the  restlessness  of  man  might  cease  ! 

Ambition  oft  is  enmity  to  peace. 

Where  were  the  beauty  in  the  halls  of  night 

Were  there  no  lesser  stars  with  minor  light? 

Where  were  the  beauty  in-  life's  common  plan 

Were  there  no  lowly  minds  its  ways  to  span? 


CONSOLATION.  23 


SONG. 

"  FLY  little  Hope  !  "  I  said, 

"  Bring  me  the  flower 
That  in  the  Future  grows, 
On  Pleasure's  bower  !  " 
My  little  Hope  took  wing, 
And  I  sat  listening, 

Till  he  should  hasten  back  to  me  once  more. 
I  painted  in  my  mind 
The  blossom  he  would  find ; 
I  thought  its  bosom  fair 
A  heart  of  gold  would  wear, 
With  pure  and  snowy  pollen  sprinkled  o'er. 
But,  lo  !  my  Hope  returned 

With  grieving  tears ; 
His  fairy  body  shook 
With  trembling  fears ; 


24  CONSOLA  TION. 

His  tender  hand  was  torn 
By  sharp  and  cruel  thorn. 

"  I  could  not  reach  the  pretty  flower  ! "  he  cried. 
He  crept  back  to  his  nest 
Within  my  foolish  breast, 
His  troubled  face  in  tearful  shame  to  hide. 
And  now  I  sigh  no  more  for  fancied  flowers 
That  seem  to  deck  the  Future's  charming  bowers, 
But  with  the  Present  I  am  satisfied. 

INTERLUDE. 

THE  lovely  things  of  earth  are  kindred  bound, 

And  in  a  pure  relationship  are  found. 

In  perfect  concord  do  they  greet  the  soul, 

And  one  rich  chord  of  beauty  binds  the  whole. 

'T  is  said  misfortunes  come  in  dubious  pairs, 

That  each  to  each  a  dull  resemblance  bears. 

If  this  be  so,  't  is  also  sweetly  true 

That  thus  do  smiling  pleasures  charm  the  view. 


CONS  OLA  TION.  2  5  : 

One  pleasure  from  another  ever  springs, 
And  in  rich  harmony  its  gladness  brings. 
And  all  the  good,  the  beautiful  of  earth, 
In  concord  rise,  the  race  of  one  sweet  birth  ! 


PART   SECOND. 
I. 

O  YE  who  miss,  from  out  the  happy  throng 

That  fill  the  sunny  halls  of  home  with  song, 

Some  gentle  face,  —  some  voice  whose  loving  word 

Is  heard  no  more,  unless  in  memory  stirred,  — 

O  falter  not  with  bitter  dread  and  tears ; 

Chill  not  with  grief  life's  ne'er  returning  years  ! 

Go  forth  and  gaze  upon  the  tender  skies ; 

In  Nature's  smile  God's  consolation  lies. 

They  whose  dear  forms  no  more  of  earth  are  known 

Need  not  our  tears  at  Heaven's  eternal  throne. 


26  CONSOLATION. 


SONG. 

How  often,  when  aweary  and  faint-hearted, 

A  holy  influence  of  comfort  nears, 
As  though  the  memories  of  the  years  departed 

Like  guardian  angels  came  to  dry  our  tears. 

The  old  familiar  faces  rise  before  us, 

Bright  with  the  smiles  that  they  were  wont  to  wear ; 
Again  they  lovingly  seem  beaming  o'er  us, 

As  though  with  us  the  weary  load  to  share. 

Once  more  we  seem  to  hear  the  well-known  voices, 
The  prattling  joy  of  childhood's  guileless  tongue, 

Whose  echo  soft  the  listening  soul  rejoices, 

Like  some  sweet  chord  by  distant  breezes  rung. 


CONSOLA  TION.  2  7 

Again  we  hear  the  calm  low  voice  of  mother, 

A  holy  benediction  for  our  pain  ; 
The  accents  of  a  sister,  or  a  brother, 

All  charm  us  with  their  harmony  again. 

How  gently,  oh  how  gently,  do  they  greet  us, — 
The  echoes  of  those  long-departed  days  ! 

How  often,  oh  how  often,  do  they  meet  us,  — 
Those  kindly  faces  smiling  on  our  ways  ! 

Ah,  tell  me  not  that  Heaven's  shining  portals 
Are  distant  from  the  paths  of  earthly  care, 

For  I  believe  the  weary  feet  of  mortals 
Oft  stand  upon  the  threshold  unaware. 

And  I  believe  that  this  which  man  calls  dying 
Is  but  the  opening  of  our  blinded  eyes  ; 

The  pluming  of  the  spirit's  wings  for  flying, 
The  garments  changed  for  those  of  Paradise. 


28  CONSOLA  TION. 


II. 

As  crystal  lakes  portray  the  changing  skies, 
Till  in  their  depths  the  scene  reflected  lies,  — 
The  dreamy  cloud,  the  star,  the  shrouded  night, 
The  sun  that  sets  in  rosy  splendor  bright,  — 
So  does  the  soul,  as  mirrored  in  a  glass, 
Reflect  the  changing  scenes  that  o'er  it  pass. 

As  one  who,  standing  in  some  lonely  wood, 

Turns  from  the  gloom  and  solemn  solitude 

To  where,  between  the  spreading  boughs,  the  breeze 

Admits  the  flecking  sunlight  through  the  trees ; 

So,  from  his  toil  and  trouble,  man  assays 

On  some  fair  spot  to  fix  his  wandering  gaze,  — 

On  some  bright  prospect,  be  it  far  or  near, 

That  sweet  contagion  may  his  spirit  cheer. 

He  toils  with  natural  impulse  for  the  sight 

That  doth  with  fairest  charms  his  steps  invite. 


CONSOLA  TION.  2Q 

Far,  far  from  self  is  turned  his  aching  heart, 
With  outward  things  to  heal  the  inward  smart, 
Till  thus,  departing  from  his  clouded  way, 
He  breaks  from  darkness  to  the  open  day. 
His  spirit  there  unconsciously  reviews 
The  ways  of  comfort, —  pauses  there  to  muse 
Upon  the  sounds  it  hears,  the  sights  it  sees, 
Until  with  sympathetic  thought  it  frees 
The  bondage-troubled  soul,  and  so  regains 
The  sunny  path  it  wended  e'er  its  pains. 
Yet  man  may  never  fold  his  weary  hands 
And  reap  the  comfort  that  his  need  demands. 
He  may  not  bide  in  idleness,  and  know 
That  pitying  Charity  will  touch  his  woe, 
And  from  his  idle  mourning  and  his  grief 
His  sluggish  spirit  grant  its  longed  relief. 
No  !  Justice  holds  a  fairer  rule  than  this  : 
Who  would  be  happy  must  deserve  his  bliss. 
True  comfort  is  of  toil  and  labor  born  ; 
Seek  then  for  consolation,  ye  who  mourn  ! 


30  CONSOLATION. 


SONG. 

THE  Past  is  fleeting  Pleasure's  quiet  grave, 

Where  memories  bright  like  streams  of  sunlight  linger ; 
Where  sleep  the  good  and  fair,  the  true  and  brave, 

Where  fond  Affection  points  with  trembling  finger. 

'T  is  there  the  Spirit  of  departed  years 

Sings  like  some  distant  bird  at  close  of  even  ; 

'T  is  there  dear  eyes  smile  farewells  through  their  tears, 
As  quiet  stars  shine  through  the  mist  of  heaven. 

Oh,  shall  we  then  review  the  Past  with  sighs, 

And  mourn  our  loved  and  lost  with  pain  and  weeping? 

No,  for  from  out  its  shadow  they  shall  rise 

Like  joyous  beings,  waking  from  their  sleeping. 

III. 

HAST  thou  e'er  climbed  the  rugged  mountains  hoar 
When  dreary  clouds  spread  stormy  heaven  o'er? 


CONS  OLA  TION.  3 1 

Hast  thou  e'er  climbed  the  rough  and  stony  way 
To  find  above  the  clouds  the  smile  of  day  ? 
So  journeyed  I.     The  path  was  steep  to  tread, 
And  blinding  mists  about  were  thickly  spread. 
Oft  was  the  road  nigh  buried  from  the  view ; 
But  Hope  my  faltering  steps  led  safely  through. 
The  cheerless  clouds  were  passed.    O  glorious  sight ! 
Those  clear  and  boundless  skies  were  blue  and  bright. 
The  sun  outpoured  his  soft  celestial  rays ; 
And  as  I  looked  below,  my  raptured  gaze 
Was  dazzled  with  his  pure,  reflected  charms. 
My  soul  was  hushed,  for  Beauty's  presence  calms. 

The  lofty  peaks,  with  features  stern  and  cold, 
Along  their  ridges  wore  a  line  of  gold ; 
And,  where  the  melting  shadows  hung  below, 
The  clouds  were  drifted  white  as  sparkling  snow. 
From  east  to  west  those  depths  of  floating  mist 
Lay  calm  as  seas  'neath  skies  of  amethyst. 


32  CONSOLATION. 

T  is  even  thus  that  mortal's  rugged  path 
Above  the  clouds  a  scene  Elysian  hath, 
To  which  his  cares  and  pains  but  pave  the  way, 
And  lead  his  footsteps  to  All-glorious  Day. 

SONG. 

I  FOUND  a  plant  in  the  chilly  night ; 

It  pierced  me  with  its  thorn. 
I  cried,  u  It  is  a  worthless  weed  !  " 

But  lo  !  when  broke  the  morn, 
I  found  it  bore  a  blossom  sweet, 

That  opened  with  the  day ; 
Then  was  I  glad  that  in  the  gloom 

I  cast  it  not  away. 
Ah  !  even  in  these  lives  of  ours, 

The  plant  that  bears  the  thorn, 
And  wounds  us  in  the  night,  will  bloom 

With  gladness  in  the  morn  ! 


CONS  OLA  TION.  3  3 

CONCLUSION. 

WHEN  quiet  Eve,  through  day's  departing  light, 
Seeks  on  the  hills  her  sister- virgin,  Night. 
Her  dewy  mantle  drops  its  cooling  shower 
Upon  the  thirsty  plain  and  drooping  flower ; 
Her  gentle  whisper  lulls  to  sweet  repose 
The  weary  birdling  in  the  forest-close  ; 
Her  drowsy  breezes  stir  the  placid  lake, 
Whose  heated  waters  from  their  calm  awake,  — 
A  moment  smile,  and  then,  in  slumbers  deep, 
Reflect  the  Heavens  in  untroubled  sleep. 
Along  their  borders,  pictured  sweetly  fair, 
The  graceful  trees  their  images  compare. 
Eve  calms  the  troubled  heart  in  Nature's  breast, 
And  brings  to  earth  an  eloquence  of  rest ; 
Till  hill  and  vale,  in  beauty  spreading  far, 
Sleep  in  the  care  of  many  a  dawning  star 
3 


34  CONSOLA  TION. 

And  seem  in  dreams  to  breathe  upon  the  air 
The  deep  contentment  of  a  silent  prayer  ; 
Thus  Consolation,  dear  as  balmy  eve, 
A  vesper  holds  where  weary  spirits  grieve. 
She  soothes  the  anxious  thoughts  to  calmer  flow ; 
She  stills  the  faltering  tongue  that  tells  of  woe  ; 
And  all  the  ills  that  cloud  the  busy  day 
At  her  approach  steal  noiselessly  away. 


THE  RAINBOW.  35 


THE   RAINBOW. 


N  the  amethyst 
Of  the  purple  mist 

I  float  like  a  dream, 
Where  the  cloud's  pearly  fountain 
Showers  over  the  mountain 

Its  musical  stream. 

f 

Like  buds  on  my  bosom 
The  sunny  beams  blossom 

With  petals  of  light ; 
Fair-tinted  as  even, 
When  the  arches  of  heaven 

With  sunset  are  bright. 
Oft  beings  Elysian, 
In  mystical  vision, 

With  joy-smiling  eyes, 


36  THE  RAINBOW. 

Descend  by  my  stair 
From  the  palace  of  air 

That  floats  in  the  skies. 
They  sport  in  the  dews 
Of  my  roseate  hues, 

Like  the  nereids  that  glide 
Through  the  spray-showered  caves 
By  the  rhythmical  waves 

Of  the  moon-glowing  tide. 

When  the  spirit  of  rest 
Folds  the  slumbering  west 

With  still  shadows  deep, 
And  the  moon  from  the  pillow 
Of  ocean's  low  billow 

Rises  from  sleep, 
I  tint  her  soft  veil. 
Translucent  and  pale 

With  silvery  light  : 


THE  RAINBOW.  37 

While  the  stars  —  the  bright  flowers 
That  hang  from  the  bowers 

Of  the  garden  of  night  — 
In  harmony  twinkle, 
As  quiet  winds  sprinkle 

Their  blossoms  with  dew  ; 
But  I  vanish  away 
Ere  the  whisper  of  day 

Stirs  heaven's  deep  blue. 
Is  it  strange  that  my  grace 
Finds  the  fairest  birthplace 

On  the  storm's  melting  shroud  ? 
Thus  Paradise  bright 
Opens  gates  in  the  light 

Of  Death's  breaking  cloud  ! 


38  A    DREAM  OF  CHILDREN. 


A   DREAM   OF   CHILDREN. 

OD  gives  our  sleep,  but  Fancy  paints  our  dreams, 
And  weaves  the  dusky  fabric  of  our  rest 
With   colors    caught  from  wakeful  hours,  and 

tints, 

And  shaclowings  of  sweet  reality. 
Her  noiseless  hands  create  from  sound  and  air 
The  fleeting  forms,  the  people  of  our  sleep, 
Till  darkness  opens  into  smiling  day, 
And  scenes  that  charm  us  with  still  wonderment. 
Yet  dreams  are  oft  the  open  books  of  truth. 
Rich  thoughts  do  often  in  their  pages  lie, 
Like  jewelled  pebbles  in  some  quiet  stream. 
The  sun  may  rise  and  dry  the  silver  rill, 
And  yet  the  pure  white  stones  unaltered  stay ; 
So  thoughts  in  dreams.     Read  if  there  be  in  mine 


A   DREAM  OF  CHILDREN.  39 

A  thought  to  keep  :  —  I  stood  beside  a  flood 

That  sang  and  sparkled  on  its  sinuous  way, 

Like  some  fair  thing  rejoicing  in  its  life. 

The  sun  broke  through  the  purple  east,  and  clad 

The  towering  hills  with  yellow  gold.     The  birds 

Grew  happy  for  the  light,  and  sang  aloud. 

And  as  the  breezes,  fresh  with  forest  dew. 

And  sweet  with  kisses  pure  of  opening  flowers, 

Stole  whispering  by,  among  the  glistening  leaves/ 

I  heard  a  sound,  like  merry  holiday, 

Float  down  the  stream,  and  melt  away,  till  lo  ! 

A  band  of  children,  beautiful  as  stars, 

And  numberless  as  sunbeams,  singing  songs 

Of  happy  hours,  came  dancing  down  the  shores, 

And,  e'er  I  knew  it,  took  me  by  the  hand 

And  led  me  on.     Through  open  fields  we  passed, 

Where  butterflies  rose  from  the  fragrant  grass 

Like  living,  bright-winged  blossoms  of  the  air. 

Through  spreading  vales  we  sped  where  stately  trees, 


40  A    DREAM  OF  CHILDREN. 

Stood  clad  in  all  the  majesty  of  years. 

And  on,  still  on  we  went,  through  pleasant  scenes, 

Unweary  with  the  journey,  till  the  sun 

His  parting  smile  .spent  on  the  rosy  clouds, 

And  like  still  sparks  the  stars  grew  into  light. 

Night  came  and  passed,  as  though  some  shadowy  hand 

Had  blinded  day's  great  eyes,  and  then  straightway 

Had  opened  them  again.     I  turned  to  find 

The  laughing  children,  but  instead  I  saw 

A  lesser  band  —  for  some  had  passed  away  — 

Of  aged  men  and  women  ;  and  I  said, 

"  Where  are  the  dear  young  lives  of  yesterday?  " 

And  one  who  stood  beside  me  white  with  years, 

Made  answer  :  "  Yea,  it  seemeth  but  a  day  ! 

Life  is  a  day  whose  moments  are  short  years." 

And  then  he  smiled  upon  me  ;  and  I  said, 

"  Are  these  then  they  with  whom  I  stood  last  eve  ?  " 

And  he  made  answer,  "  These  are  they."    And  then  — 

I  woke  and  found  my  cheeks  were  damp  with  tears. 


GOLD  AND  SHADE.  41 


GOLD   AND   SHADE. 

AR  in  the  glowing  arches  of  the  west, 

The  flaming  altars  of  the  evening  burn ; 
And  banks  of  cloud,  in  sunset  glory  dressed, 
Against  the  hills  their  dazzling  lo.soms  turn. 

-- 
Through  spreading  vales  the  golden  splendor  streams, 

By  towering  pine,  and  cedars  tall  and  fair ; 
The  lake  a  flashing  sea  of  glory  seems, 

And  sweet  with  bird-songs  is  the  amber  air. 

The  beauty  fades ;  and  one  by  one  the  stars, 
Lone  chorists  in  the  chapel  halls  of  night, 

Gather  at  quiet  heaven's  chancel  bars, 

Singing  their  unheard  hymns  with  faces  bright. 


42  GOLD  AND  SHADE. 

And  all  is  still  except  the  brooks  and  breeze, 
That  fill  with  song  and  whisper  low  the  wood, 

Where  quietly  the  moon  looks  through  the  trees, 

• 

And  dreaming  Beauty  sleeps  in  solitude. 


THE  BRIGHT  REAPER.  43 


THE   BRIGHT   REAPER. 

SAW  the  years,  like  bright  autumnal  leaves, 

Fall  on  the  frosty  paths  of  ages  flown ; 
And  there  an  angel  bound  them  up  in  sheaves, 
As  one  who  garners  in  the  fields  alone,  — 

As  one  who  garners  quietly,  and  sings 

A  song  that  all  the  hush  with  music  thrills, 

While  breezes  low  waft  slumber  from  their  wings, 
And  Twilight  listens  on  the  lonely  hills. 

Among  the  leaves,  the  smiling  spirit  found, 
Were  some  as  fair  as  sun  and  dew  could  form ; 

But  there  were  some  her  gentle  fingers  bound, 

That  withered  were  and  sered  with  rain  and  storm. 


44  THE  BRIGHT  REAPER. 

Then  I  was  sad,  because  I  knew  that  I 

Had  wasted  there  full  many  a  precious  year ; 

The  angel  paused  in  pity  at  my  sigh, 

And,  knowing  all  my  thinking,  said  with  cheer : 

"  Fear  not !  the  Future  still  shall  bring  the  leaves, 
And  if  thou  keepest  them  but  sweet  and  fair, 

Then  will  I  sift  the  withered  from  my  sheaves, 
And  place,  instead,  the  bright  and  lovely  there." 

In  what  the  angel  said  I  was  consoled. 

I  raised  my  head ;  her  smile  upon  me  beamed. 
She  passed ;  I  stood  as  one  who  in  the  cold 

Awakes,  and  misses  some  sweet  thing  he  dreamed. 


SOWG   OF  AUTUMN.  45 


SONG  OF  AUTUMN. 

||AIL,  golden  Season,  sandalled  with  the  frost 
And  crowned  with  early  stars  !     Spirit,  whose 

hand 
Gathers  the  fruitage  of  the  seasons  lost, 

And  sows  with  splendor  all  the  glowing  land  ! 
Hail,  golden  Autumn  !  hail !     Thy  name  I  sing 
From  joys  of  earth  and  sky  !     I  sing  thy  name, 
That  burns  with  Beauty's  Heaven-enkindled  flame  ! 
Hail,  hearty  hours,  crowned  promises  of  Spring  ! 
Ring  out  your  tunes,  O  merry  brooklets  ring  ! 
Be  glad,  O  towering  pines,  that  roar  and  sound 
With  gales  that  sweep  from  ether's  farthest  bound  ! 
Be  glad,  for  now  is  joy  in  everything  ! 

There  is  a  pathos  in  the  Summer's  death, 
That  blends  with  all  the  beauty  of  the  year ; 


46  SONG   OF  AUTUMN. 

But  there  's  a  gladness  in  the  Autumn's  breath 

That  steals  away  the  mourner's  pensive  tear, 
And  brightens  all  the  earth  in  every  place. 
There  is  no  sorrow  found  on  Nature's  face, 
But  in  the  hearts  of  men  who  mourn  her  change, 

Nor  understand  her  laws.     Yet  not  of  this 
I  sing,  but  of  the  broad  and  boundless  range 

Of  this  bright  season's  glowing  happiness. 
These  are  the  days  when  Heaven  communes  with  Earth 

And  paints  the  sunset  on  the  forest  boughs  ; 
When  farmer  boys,  with  ringing  shouts  of  mirth, 

Build  up  the  hay  in  brown  and  fragrant  mows ; 

When  little,  red- cloaked  maids  drive  home  the  cows, 
With  sweet  glad  songs  heard  on  the  evening  hills ; 
When  rivers  flash,  and  droning  cider-mills 

Run  over  with  their  juices,  pure  and  sweet, 

When  from  the  yellow  sheaves  of  golden  wheat 
The  merry  reaper  many  a  storehouse  fills. 

These  are  the  days  when  beehives  yield  their  store, 


SONG   OF  AUTUMN.  47 

And  nut-trees,  shivering  in  the  chilly  winds, 

Shower  down  their  load  upon  the  forest  floor, 
And  many  a  kernel  sweet  the  squirrel  finds. 

We  have  been  sorrowful ;  but  now  we  sing 

For  joy,  for  now  is  joy  in  everything  ! 
These  are  the  days  of  days  that  crown  the  Earth 

With  hope  and  wealth.    Hail,  Autumn  ;  they  are  thine  ! 
These  are  the  days  when  hearts  beat  full  of  mirth 

And  cheeks  grow  red  and  fair,  and  eyes  grow  bright, 

And  voices  ring  out  clear,  and  steps  grow  light. 

These  are  the  days  !    Hail,  Autumn ;  they  are  thine  ! 


48  THE  SLEEPING  SHEPHERD. 


THE   SLEEPING   SHEPHERD. 

[JO  !  where  the  dusky  Night  in  beauty  smileth 

O'er  Latmos,  with  her  host  of  mellow  beams, 
Endymion,  shepherd  of  the  hills,  beguileth 
His  youthful  soul  in  everlasting  dreams. 
O'er  Hesper's  dewy  shrine  the  pale  moon  gazes,  — 

Diana,  reigning  goddess  of  the  night, 
And  'neath  her  watchful  rays  the  pearly  hazes 

Steal  soft  away  upon  their  noiseless  flight. 
Her  frosty  heart  grows  warm  with  adoration, 
She  bathes  his  rosy  brow  with  kisses  sweet, 
And  asks  of  Love  the  dearest  occupation, 

To  guard  his  slumbers  as  the  hours  retreat. 
No  more  his  lambs  from  distant  vales  are  bleating ; 
Her  smile  has  gathered  back  the  wandering  fold, 


THE  SLEEPING  SHEPHERD.  49 

And  now  as  hushed  the  winged  Night  is  fleeting, 

She  crowns  his  peaceful  brow  with  beams  of  gold. 
And  so  he  sleeps,  forever  and  forever, 

In  one  long  dream  of  changeless  Paradise  ; 
Yet  Time  that  silent  face  shall  alter  never, 

For  youth  eternal  seals  his  smiling  eyes. 
Dream  on,  Endymion  !     Dream  of  hills  Elysian  ! 

Nor  life  nor  death  shall  mar  thy  sweet  repose, 
For  Fancy  paints  for  thee  thy  mystic  vision, 

Where  sleep,  like  some  calm  river,  ceaseless  flows. 

4 


50  GRANDMOTHER. 


GRANDMOTHER. 

EAR   Grandmother,  there  was.  no    brow   more 

beautiful  than  thine. 
Thy  loving  spirit  showed  itself  in  every  wrinkled 

line. 
The  softest  word  of  thy  sweet  voice  bade  all  our  troubles 

cease ; 
The  gentle  look  of  thy  meek  eyes  was  full  of  faith  and 

peace. 

Thou  wast  so  patient  day  by  day,  so  far  from  drear  com- 
plaining, 

We  never  knew  when,  in  thy  life,  't  was  stormy,  dark,  or 
raining. 

We  never  knew  when  thou  wert  sad,  for  on  thy  radiant  face 
The  features  always  wore  a  smile  of  calm  and  saintly  grace. 


GRAND  MO  THER.  5  I 

We  saw  no  cloud,  we  found  no  shade,  that  told  of  pain  or 

fear ;  * 

Thy  noble  heart  kept  to  itself  the  bitter,  secret  tear. 

And  well  we  know  that  thou  didst  hide  from  us  thy  grief 

and  sorrow  ; 
That  thou  didst  hush  thy  sighs  lest  they  might  cloud  our 

bright  to-morrow. 

O  cherished  one,  we  cannot  feel  that  thou  art  far  away. 
The  night  of  darkness  only  falls  to  measure  day  from  day ;  • 
And  so  the  shade  that  hides  thy  smile,  that  was  of  angel 

worth, 
Is  but  the  shadow  measuring  out  the  Heavens  from  the 

earth. 
God  only  takes  to  hold  more  dear  the  loved  ones  he  has 

given : 
And  thou  art  still  our  Grandmother,  —  our  Grandmother 

in  Heaven. 


52  OCTOBER. 


OCTOBER. 

ESIDE  the  meadow  bars  the  lowing  cows 

Gather  at  fall  of  eve,  with  frosty  breath. 
The  gold  of  Autumn  gilds  the  forest  boughs. 
How  sweetly  charmed  is  Summer  to  her  death  ! 

The  chilly  wind  sighs  round  the  naked  thorn ; 

The  dainty  flowers  have  perished  on  the  glade ; 
The  Eastern  star,  at  close  of  even  born, 

Shines  cold  through  dewy  night's  returning  shade. 

But  when  from  morning's  gates,  at  purple  day, 

The  smiling  spirit  of  the  light  returns, 
And  over  towering  pines  the  sunbeams  play, 

As  broad  and  bright  the  day's  great  censer  burns ; 


OCTOBER.  S3 

Oh,  then  there  is  a  glory  in  the  air, 

Such  as  the  pride  of  Summer  never  gave  ! 

A  gladdening  presence  lingers  everywhere, 
That  brightens  Beauty's  pathway  to  the  grave. 


54  MORNING  AND  EVENING. 


MORNING   AND   EVENING. 


SAW  the  smiling  Morn,  with  dewy  cheeks, 
Rise  from  the  melting  shades  of  fleeting  night, 
And  in  his  early  flush  of  beauty  bright 
Flood  earth  and  all  her  vales  and  mountain  peaks. 
The  wandering  clouds  in  glowing  hues  arrayed, 

Upon  their  silent  wings, 
Through  sunny  ether's  azure  portals  strayed 

Like  joyous  living  things. 
A  thousand  songs  broke  from  the  vernal  woods, 

A  thousand  echoes  woke  the  sleeping  hills  ; 
Earth  sang,  and  heaven's  listening  solitudes, 
Outspreading  wide  and  silent  overhead, 
With  joyous  spirits  seemed  inhabited, 
And  gayly  rang  the  glittering  mountain  rills ; 


MORNING  AND  EVENING.  55 

And  silent  from  her  lone  and  lofty  nest 
The  stately  eagle  rose  with  rapid  flight, 
Her  proud  form  .-floating  in  the  golden  light, 

Hope,  life,  and  gladness  billowing  her  breast. 

II. 

I  saw  the  mild-browed  Eve,  with  pensive  eyes, 
Sprinkle  the  noiseless  steps  of  parting  day 
With  quiet  dew,  while  shone  with  distant  ray 
The  evening  star,  upon  the  darkening  skies. 
A  dreamy  languor  rested  o'er  the  vale, 
The  birds  had  closed  their  tune  ; 
Heaven  bowed  her  lovely  features,  calm  and  pale, 

And  did  with  Earth  commune. 
Sound  slept  the  flowers,  and  drowsy  breezes  blew 

With  whispers  low  that  stirred  each  shadowy  tree ; 
Peace  o'er  the  world  her  balmy  curtain  drew ; 

And  Night,  far  sinking  through  the  dusky  west, 
With  quiet  smile  of  blessing  murmured  "  Rest !  " 
And  all  things  seemed  to  sleep  in  mystery. 


56  MORNING  AND  EVENING. 

Then  did  the  pure  moon  turn  her  holy  gaze 
Across  the  convent  arches  of  the  night, 
Like  some  fair  nun,  that,  with  a  brow  of  light, 

Prays  softly,  ever  smiling  as  she  prays. 


CUPID  AT  THE   GATE.  57 


CUPID   AT  THE   GATE. 

i]N  dreams  I  saw  the  pearly  gates 

Of  blissful  Paradise, 
Where  stood  an  angel  bright  as  morn, 
With  sacred  beaming  eyes. 
Upon  his  bosom  shone  a  star 

With  light  as  warm  as  breath. 
*T  was  his  to  guard  those  jasper  walls  — 
His  name  was  Gentle  Death. 

Lo  !  as  I  gazed,  fair  Cupid  came 

Upon  his  wings  of  love, 
And  with  a  voice  that  sounded  like 

The  coo  of  some  lone  dove, 


58  CUPID  AT   THE   GATE. 

He  plead,  "  Pray  ope  for  me  the  gate  ; 

I  '11  roam  the  world  no  more  ! 
I  'm  weary  of  the  earthly  way, 

My  pilgrimage  is  o'er  !  " 

Then  Gentle  Death  made  soft  reply 

(Yet  was  no  entrance  given)  — 
"  Return,  thou  wayward  child,  for  thou 

Art  needed  not  in  Heaven  !  " 
"And  must  I  then  depart?"  he  grieved. 

"  Thou  must,"  the  angel  said  ; 
"  For  all  is  love  in  Paradise  — 

And  yet,  be  comforted  ! 

"  Leave  not  the  Heavenly  gate  with  tears ; 

But,  turning,  think  how  fair 
The  world  may  be  'neath  thy  dear  reign ; 

Without  it,  think  how  bare  !  " 


CUPID  AT   THE   GATE.  59 

Love  sadly  spread  his  quivering  wings 

Upon  his  downward  flight, 
And  in  my  dream  I  saw  him  pass 

Across  the  silent  night. 

But  on  his  way  his  mournful  face 

Each  moment  brighter  grew ; 
His  tender  eyes,  like  two  fair  stars, 

Shone  through  their  tearful  dew. 
I  longed  to  watch  his  farther  course ; 

But,  ah  !  it  sometimes  seems 
As  though  we  always  woke  when  in 

The  dearest  part  of  dreams. 

And  thus  I  woke ;  yet,  waking,  thought 

How  Cupid's  task  was  given 
To  make  this  barren  air  of  ours 

More  like  the  breath  of  Heaven. 


60  CUPID   AT  THE   GATE. 

I  thought  how  holy  was  the  bond 

Of  mortals'  faithful  love, 
Since  Cupid  found  his  own  sweet  charm 

Immortalized  above. 


TO  A    CLOUD.  6 1 


TO   A   CLOUD. 

HOU  airy  thing  of  snowy  mist, 

Thou  spirit  child  of  sun  and  dew, 
By  every  wooing  zephyr  kissed 
That  stirs  the  silent  ether's  blue  ! 
Thou  semblance  of  a  pleasure  true  ! 
Unconscious  thing  of  beauty  rare  ; 

New-born  with  every  changing  hue 
That  tints  the  mild  translucent  air  ! 
Thou  happy,  happy  thing  that  knows  not  earthly  care  ! 

'T  was  from  the  soulless  seas  and  streams, 
*  The  vales  where  brooding  vapors  lay, 
That  thou,  with  all  thy  golden  dreams 
Wert  born  to  charm  the  smiling  day. 
T  was  from  the  damp  and  mouldering  clay, 


62  TO  A    CLOUD. 

Where  deathly  shades  their  darkness  trace, 

That  thou  wert  clad  in  rich  array, 
The  blushing  bride  of  Morn's  embrace  ; 
And  now,  God  hath  not  made  a  thing  more  full  of  grace  ! 

Float  on  !  O  heavenly  eremite, 

The  purple  hills  and  mountains  o'er, 
That  wear  the  Summer's  crowning  light 

On  frosty  foreheads  proud  and  hoar  ! 

Be  glad  !  though  thou  not  evermore, 
In  pure  delight  and  glory  mild, 

Shalt  roam  that  blue  mysterious  shore 
Where  past  eternity  hath  smiled. 
Rejoice,  O  airy  cloud  !  though  thou  art  Death's  own  child  ! 

Ah,  happy  me  !  My  life,  like  thine, 

Shall  from  this  earthly  darkness  rise, 
For  God  shall  be  my  Sun  divine, 

And  earth  shall  give  me  to  the  skies, 


TO  A    CLOUD.  63 

My  soul  shall  that  sweet  realm  apprize, 
Oh,  not  like  thee  to  melt  away, 

For  they  who  breathe  in  Paradise 
Are  dwellers  of  Immortal  Day, 
And  there  a  pleasure  is  a  joy  that  lives  for  aye  ! 


64  SCHOOLHOUSE  IN  THE  GLADE. 


LITTLE   SCHOOLHOUSE   IN   THE   GLADE. 


LITTLE  schoolhouse  in  the  glade, 

Where  are  the  children's  faces,  — 
The  band  that  round  your  porches  played, 
And  ran  in  merry  races  ? 
Where  are  the  footsteps  at  the  door  ! 

The  ringing,  happy  voices  ? 

I  listen  ;  but  no  more,  no  more 

Your  hall  with  song  rejoices  ; 

O  little  schoolhouse  in  the  glade, 

Gone  are  the  happy  voices  ! 

II. 

O  little  schoolhouse  in  the  glade, 
You  bring  sweet  memories  to  me. 


SCHOOLHOUSE  IN  THE   GLADE.  65 

Once  I  abcaut  your  porches  played, 

Ere  care  or  trouble  knew  me  ; 
Once  I,  a  careless,  laughing  child, 

Along  your  pathway  wended,  — 
The  path  that  now  in  grasses  wild 

And  tangled  weeds  is  ended  ; 
O  little  schoolhouse  in  the  glade, 

Once  I  that  pathway  wended  ! 

III. 

O  little  schoolhouse  in  the  glade, 

Your  children  are  departed. 
They  leave  your  dear  old  walls  to  fade  ; 

I  bless  them,  broken-hearted. 
Your  windows  small  so  grim  have  grown ; 

Your  pleasant  ways,  so  dreary  ! 
You  stand  like  one  who,  left  alone, 

Awaits  death  sad  and  weary ; 
O  little  schoolhouse  in  the  glade, 

Your  ways  have  all  grown  dreary  ! 


66  SCHOOLHOUSE  IN  THE   GLADE. 


IV. 

0  little  schoolhouse  in  the  glade, 
I  knew  the  happy  faces ; 

1  knew  the  band  that  laughed  and  played, 
And  ran  in  merry  races. 

Some  roam  the  world  as  poor  as  you, 
And  some  know  sorrow  never ; 

And  one,  my  joyous  boyhood  knew, 
Sleeps  on  the  hill  forever ; 

But,  little  schoolhouse  in  the  glade, 
Some  think  of  sorrow  never  ! 

V. 

O  little  schoolhouse  in  the  glade, 
The  wintry  winds  may  shake  you ; 

Yet  all  the  scars  by  seasons  made 
Shall  only  fairer  make  you. 


SCHOOLHOUSE  IN  THE   GLADE.  67 

My  heart  shall  ever  hold  you  dear ; 

You  live  on  Memory's  pages,  — 
A  name  that  calls  a  happy  tear, 

And  many  a  pain  assuages ; 
O  little  schoolhouse  in  the  glade, 

You  lighten  Memory's  pages  ! 


0  little  schoolhouse  in  the  glade, 
If  it  be  true  that  Heaven 

Contains  the  joys  of  earth  that  fade, 
With  all  that  hope  hath  given,  — 

1  know  that  I  shall  find  you  there, 

With  all  your  happy  voices, 
And  see  your  merry  faces  fair, 

WThere  every  tongue  rejoices  ; 
O  little  schoolhouse  in  the  glade, 

Safe  are  the  happy  voices  ! 


68  THE  NIGHTINGALE. 


THE   NIGHTINGALE. 
A   REFRAIN. 

night  as  I  wandered  alone  through  the  wood, 
I  heard,  from  the  depths  of  the  still  solitude, 
The  voice  of  the  nightingale,  pensive  and  low 
As  the  purl  of  a  fountain  in  soft  overflow. 
Enraptured  I  paused,  and  the  moon's  mellow  sheen 
Stole  tranquilly  down  through  the  foliage  green, 
Till  the  slumbering  shadows  awoke  from  their  dreams, 
And  duskily  skirted  the  pure  silver  beams. 
Aweary,  I  seated  myself  by  the  way, 
On  a  moss- covered  log,  with  its  cushions  of  gray. 
From  the  shades  that  embosomed  a  neighboring  tree 
The  Nightingale  sang  his  sad  story  to  me ; 


THE  NIGHTINGALE.  69 

And  the  passing  breeze,  swaying  the  bushes  apart, 
Bore  the  low,  plaintive  notes  to  the  depths  of  my  heart ; 
While  the  valley  repeated  the  close  of  each  strain 
With  a  soft  modulation  and  sob-like  refrain. 


I. 

"  The  beautiful  lily 

That  grew  in  the  vale 
Has  closed  its  dear  eyes, 

And  its  sweet  face  is  pale. 
The  tall  ferns  bend  over 

And  whisper  in  vain, 
For  ne'er  may  the  flower 

Make  answer  again. 

Its  petals  are  folded,  and  bowed  is  its  head  :  — 
O  sorrow  !     O  sorrow  ! 
The  lily  is  dead  !  " 
The  low  echoes  murmur,  "  The  lily  is  dead  !  " 


70  THE  NIGHTINGALE. 

II. 

"  No  more  may  my  singing 

Its  sweet  raptures  woo  ; 
No  more  on  its  bosom 

Shall  glisten  the  dew ; 
No  more  shall  the  butterfly 

Whisper  his  love, 
As  he  hovers  and  sways 

On  his  bright  wings  above  ; 
No  more  shall  the  bee  with  its  kisses  be  fed ; 
O  sorrow  !    O  sorrow  ! 
The  lily  is  dead  !  " 
The  low  echoes  murmur,  "  The  lily  is  dead  !  " 

III. 

"  The  stranger  that  wandered 
^         At  eve  through  the  wood 
Has  taken  the  joy 
Of  its  deep  solitude. 


THE  NIGHTINGALE.  71 

His  passing  foot  trampled 

The  blossom  of  snow, 
And  crushed  the  fair  flower 
That  God  made  to  grow. 

Now  silent  it  droops  by  the  brook's  mossy  bed  ; 
O  sorrow  !    O  sorrow  ! 
The  lily  is  dead  !  " 
The  low  echoes  murmur,  "  The  lily  is  dead  !  " 

A  mournful  hush  fell  on  the  listening  vale 

When  the  grieving  bird  finished  his  sorrowful  tale. 

But  ah  !  as  the  breeze  swayed  the  bushes  apart, 

His  song  from  the  distance  stole  back  to  my  heart ; 

And  the  trees  seemed  to  whisper  that  rustled  o'erhead, 

"  O  breezes  blow  softly  !     The  lily  is  dead  !  " 

I  returned  to  the  brooklet,  and  close  on  its  bank 

I  saw  where  the  delicate  lily-bell  sank : 

And  I  knew  't  was  the  fall  of  my  own  idle  feet 

That  had  taken  the  life  of  the  flower  so  sweet ; 

And  gently  I  lifted  its  fair  drooping  head, 

And  prayed,  "God  forgive  me  !   Thy  dear  flower  is  dead." 


72  HYMN  OF  THE  DEEP. 


HYMN   OF  THE   DEEP. 

BEAR,  O  man,  upon  my  swell 

The  echoes  of  forgotten  ages  ; 
My  waves  have  tolled  the  solemn  knell 
Of  ancient  kings  and  early  sages. 

The  crags  and  rocks  along  my  shore, 
The  ever  stern  and  ponderous  bowlder, 

Are  old,  ten  thousand  years  and  more, 
But  I,  O  man,  than  all  am  .older. 

Earth  once  with  darkest  gloom  was  cast ; 

Lo  !  when  the  lurid  clouds  were  riven, 
My  surging  waves  were  tossing  fast 

Beneath  the  arching  brow  of  heaven  ! 


HYMN  OF  THE  DEEP.  73 

I  bore  upon  my  grand,  cold  breast 

The  first  glad  light  of  Nature's  morning ; 

And  God  my  host  of  waters  blest 

Ere  Eden  heard  the  voice  of  warning. 

Through  all  the  lapse  of  fleeting  years, 

Through  war  and  through  the  world's  upheaval, 

Through  nations'  joys  and  nations'  tears, 
I  echo  still  the  voice  primeval. 

The  angry  storms  o'erhead  may  beat, 

And  loud  and  long  may  peal  the  thunder ; 

Yet,  —  though  the  stars  in  heaven  retreat, 
And  hide  away  in  awe  and  wonder,  — 

Lo  !  I  but  laugh  and  throw  my  spray, 

Till  toward  the  lowering  sky  it  tosses, 
And  love  to  watch  the  lightning  play, 

As  through  the  darksome  night  it  crosses. 


74  HYMN  OF  THE  DEEP. 

I  strive  with  all  the  winds  that  blow, 
And  often  do  I  roar  the  loudest ; 

The  raging  storms  are  proud,  yet  know 
That  I  am  mightiest  and  proudest. 

They  seek  to  lift  me  from  my  bed, 

But  I  with  deepest  scorn  deride  them  ; 

They  howl  in  wrath  above  my  head, 
But  with  my  hissing  foam  I  hide  them. 

The  sea-birds  dart  away  in  fright, 

But  my  calm  heart  is  brave  and  fearless ; 

I  glory  in  the  awful  sight, 

And  in  the  darkness  wild  and  cheerless. 

No  earthly  power  can  conquer  me, 

And  none  from  me  my  strength  can  sever ; 

As  I  was  born,  so  shall  I  be,  — 
Unaltered  and  unconquered  ever. 


HYMN  OF  THE  DEEP.  75 

O  man  !  some  call  me  cruel  Sea, 

And  look  on  me  with  sighs  and  weeping ; 

And  some  bring  all  their  woe  to  me, 
And  trust  their  future  to  my  keeping. 

Some  life-worn  souls  seek  out  my  waves 

To  bury  burning  shame  and  trouble ; 

•* 
And  no  eye  knows  their  lonely  graves, 

As  o'er  the  spot  my  waters  bubble. 

The  sailor  lad  with  youthful  brow, 

The  monarch  in  his  perished  glory, 
The  lisping  babe,  so  silent  now, 

The  aged  man  whose  hair  is  hoary,  — 

All  these  within  my  depths  I  hold, 
Unconscious  of  my  rush  and  beating, 

Mid  useless  heaps  of  pearl  and  gold 
That  make  a  surA  of  no  repeating. 


76  HYMN  OF   THE  DEEP. 

O  man  !  I  bear  upon  my  swell 
The  echoes  of  forgotten  ages  ; 

My  waves  have  tolled  the  solemn  knell 
Of  ancient  kings  and  early  sages. 

My  flood  shall  beat  the  march  of  time, 
As  slow  the  measured  years  are  passing ; 

From  pole  to  pole,  from  clime  to  clime, 
My  wealth  shall  ever  be  amassing. 

My  tides  shall  hold  their  ancient  reign, 
Till  God  say  unto  uie,  "  O  Ocean, 

Thy  longer  life  to  me  were  vain  !  " 

And  hush  my  voice  and  calm  my  motion. 

Then  break,  O  Deep,  along  thy  shore, 
Obedient  to  thy  King  Supernal ! 

Break  on,  break  on  forevermore, 

Thou  semblance  of  the  Sea  Eternal  ! 


AUTUMN  COLORS.  77' 


AUTUMN   COLORS. 

I. 

pIKE  tasselled  spears  of  yellow  gold, 
At  Autumn's  ruddy  tide  of  eve, 
Between  the  forest  and  the  wold, 
The  full,  rich  grain  stands  ripe  to  sheave 
The  slanting  sunbeams  interweave 
The  shining  straws  with  quiet  light, 
Till  day's  departing  spirits  leave 
The  fading  cloudlets  soft  and  white, 
Like  fleecy  foam  on  starry  seas  of  night. 

II. 

The  maple  boughs,  with  ruby  hues, 
Reflected  lie  in  crystal  streams, 


78  AUTUMN  COLORS. 

And  shine  and  flash  with  sparkling  dews 
When  day  returns  from  frosty  dreams. 
The  sky,  so  blue  and  cloudless,  seems 

The  arch  of  some  celestial  way, 

Which  leads  to  that  bright  spot  that  teems 

With  spirits  passed  from  earthly  day, 

Who,  entering  once,  remain  in  joy  for  aye. 


III. 

The  lofty  pine  unaltered  stands, 
And  —  like  a  king  with  noble  mien, 

Who  in  his  very  form  commands  — 
Uplifts  its  haughty  plume  of  green, 
And  reigns  triumphant  in  the  scene. 

And  though  the  wintry  season  falls, 

And  rough  gales  sweep  its  boughs  between, 

It  roars  through  Autumn's  forest  halls, 

And  answers  every  clarion  tongue  that  calls. 


AUTUMN  COLORS.  79 


IV. 

When  sun  and  frost  have  wrought  their  spell, 

And  earth  reveals  her  fairest  charm, 
Then  Beauty  breathes  her  sad  farewell 

And  sinks  to  rest  on  Winter's  arm ; 

Her  pure,  glad  smile,  so  bright,  so  calm, 
Fades  with  the  falling  of  the  leaves, 

And  Nature  stands  with  outstretched  palm, 
As  one,  who  asking,  naught  receives, 
And  through  the  gathering  darkness  roams  and  grieves. 


8o 


MINUTE  SONGS. 


MINUTE    SONGS. 


ON   THE   BEACH. 

SIMPLE  cottage  on  a  shore ; 
Two  children  by  the  door  at  play ; 
A  sinking  sun,  a  closing  day, 
That  fades  the  rosy  waters  o'er : 
Two  fishers  drawing  up  the  beach 
A  boat  beyond  the  breakers'  reach ; 
At  sea,  a  lighthouse  towering  high  — 
A  snowy  pillar  'gainst  the  sky. 

II. 
HOME,   SWEET   HOME. 

A  HOMESTEAD  old,  and  in  the  door 
A  grandame  smiling  in  her  sleep  ; 


MINUTE  SONGS.  8 1 

Three  kittens  rolling  in  a  heap 
A  ball  of  worsted  on  the  floor  ; 
A  window  where  a  child's  bright  eyes 
Are  gazing  upward  at  the  skies ; 
While  through  the  trellis  and  the  vines 
The  dreaming  sunlight  softly  shines. 

III. 
A   STILL   HOUR. 

A  NIGHT  thrice  sweeter  than  the  day, 

With  skies  like  purple  velvet  dark, 

And  flecked  with  many  a  glistening  spark 
Of  stars,  and  mist-like  milky  way. 
A  songless  night-bird  floating  through 

An  open  space  between  the  woods, 
With  wings  as  noiseless  as  the  dew 

That  falls  on  leafy  solitudes. 
6 


82  MINUTE  SONGS. 

IV. 
AT   HARBOR. 

AN  open  bay  :  blue  skies,  and  clouds 
White  as  the  foam  that  crests  the  sea ; 
Great  vessels  anchored  quietly, 
With  sailors  working  at  the  shrouds  ; 
Gulls  wheeling  o'er  the  sparkling  brine, 
Like  snowflakes  drifting  in  sunshine ; 
A  graceful  yacht  seen  far  away, 
With  open  sail  and  streamers  gay. 

V. 
DAISY. 

A  CHILD  whose  merry  voice  beguiles 
More  deftly  than  .a  siren's  power  ; 
A  mouth  that  like  a  tender  flower 

Is  ever  blossoming  with  smiles ; 


MINUTE  SONGS.  83 

Bright  eyes,  the  stars  of  four  glad  years, 
And  pattering  feet  with  music  shod ; 

A  child  fair  as  the  name  she  bears, 

A  flower  whose  sweetness  sprang  from  God. 


84  SUMMER  MORNING. 


SUMMER   MORNING. 

LONG  the  depths  of  azure,  where  the  gold  of 

morning  lies, 
From    rosy- tinted  solitudes  the  snowy  vapors 

rise ; 
And  morning,  like  a  blossom,  fills  with  fragrance  earth 

and  skies, 

And  crowns  the  purple  mountain-peaks  with  light. 
From  the  woods  I  hear  the  music  of  the  shadow-buried 

streams, 
And  the  joy  that  fills  my  bosom,  like  the  song  repeated 

seems. 

Lo  !  every  dewy  flower  like  a  spirit  wakes  from  dreams. 
How  sweet  a  world  is  gathered  from  the  night ! 


SUMMER  MORNING.  85 

The  dream  of  morning  passes  as  an  inspiration  dies ; 
The  light  of  gladness  fades  and  leaves  my  joy-illumined 

eyes; 
And  yet  a  flood  of  glory  on  the  smiling  valley  lies, 

More  bright  than  when  the  flames  of  dawning  rose. 
Down  the  roadway,  green  with  grasses,  where  the  slanting 

shadows  play, 
The  drover  guides  his  oxen  toward  the  meadows  stacked 

with  hay ; 
Beyond  him  speeds  a  river,  gemmed  with  lilies  white  as 

spray, 
And  pastured  herds  are  drinking  where  it  flows. 


86  A    WINTER  SCENE. 


A   WINTER  SCENE. 
fjiHE  earth  is  wrapped  in  one  white  dream  of  snow, 

JM 

The  crescent,  like  a  broken  shield  of  gold, 
Lies  on  those  purple  depths  where  star-flowers 

grow, 
And  shines  with  lambent  beams  across  the  wold. 

O'er  far  horizon-lines  the  mountains  lift 

Their  crags  against  the  cold,  unfathomed  sky, 

Encased  with  snow  in  many  a  marble  drift, 
Like  monuments  of  centuries  passed  by. 

Through  ghostly  forest  aisles,  where  not  a  leaf 
Flecks  with  its  emerald  green  the  frosty  boughs, 

The  haunting  winds,  with  swelling  tales  of  grief, 
The  frozen  trees  from  heavy  dreams  arouse. 


A    WINTER  SCENE.  87 

And  sudden,  by  the  moonlight's  pallid  beams, 
A  band  of  silent  wolves  speed  though  the  snow  ; 

As,  over  sorrow's  pillow,  troubled  dreams 

From  slumber's  unknown  borders  come  and  go. 

Far  from  a  distant  wilderness  of  woods 

The  fearless  owl  laughs  at  the  passing  hour ; 

Then  silence  broods  upon  the  solitudes, 

And  wraps  the  midnight  in  her  solemn  power. 

A  shadow  falls  on  all  the  hills  around, 

And  hidden  is  the  moon's  far-spreading  light, 

As  o'er  the  skies,  with  all  their  stars  profound, 
The  clouds  float  by  like  dreamy  swans  of  night. 

The  shadowy  hour  melts  into  purple  day ; 

And,  through  Aurora's  fields  of  azure  air, 
The  crimson  stream  of  morning  pours  its  way, 

And  tints  the  snowclad  hills  with  colors  rare. 


8  A    WINTER  SCENE. 

And  soon,  beneath  a  golden  atmosphere, 
The  twinkling  crystals  of  the  starry  snow  — 

Like  rainbow-flashing  diamonds  pure  and  clear  — 
For  miles  outspread,  set  all  the  fields  aglow. 

And  sharp  and  strong  the  north  wind  fills  the  skies, 
And  sifts  and  smooths  the  downy  seas  of  white, 

Till  Nature  wipes  the  sorrow  from  her  eyes 
And  smiles  to  see  her  world  so  fair  and  bright. 


TO    THE  EVENING  STAR.  89 


TO   THE   EVENING   STAR. 

ESPLENDENT  Star  !  when  through  the  nightly 

halls 

The  dewy  shade  of  closing  darkness  falls, 
To  thee  I  turn  my  weary,  watchful  eyes, 
To  thee  my  silent  thoughts  in  rapture  rise. 
As  pillowed  on  the  soft,  translucent  haze, 
Thou  charmest  nature  with  refulgent  rays, 
The  sister  stars  thy  praises  seem  to  sing, 
While  all  the  universe  is  listening. 
There  is  a  music  in  the  beauteous  night, 
That  steals  from  Fancy's  lyre  in  echoes  light,  — 
That  to  the  inner  sense  its  note  attunes, 
And  with  the  quiet  thought  in  peace  communes. 


90  TO   THE  EVENING  STAR. 

O  gentle  Star  !  soft  ray  on  Night's  dark  scroll, 
Thy  tender  beam  thou  sheddest  on  my  soul. 
Thou  fillest  me  with  rest ;  for  lo,  through  thee, 
The  God  of  love,  my  Father,  smiles  on  me  ! 


THE  SHADOW-BOATMAN.  91 


THE    SHADOW-BOATMAN. 
A  BALLAD. 

I. 

WAS  early  morn,  the  skies  were  blue, 
And  the  breeze  was  soft  and  fair, 
As  on  the  banks  of  the  river  I  saw 
A  child  with  sunny  hair. 
Lo  !  a  boatman  hailed  her  from  his  skiff, 

And  he  cried,  "  Oh  come  with  me, 
And  I  will  carry  you  down  the  stream, 

To  the  boundless,  open  sea  !  " 
The  little  maid  looked  up  and  smiled  : 

"  Farewell,  farewell  !  "  cried  she  ; 
And  the  boatman  pushed  his  bark  away, 
Down  the  flood  toward  the  open  sea. 


92  THE  SHADOW-BOATMAN. 


II. 

I  followed  along  the  river's  bank, 

And  soon  an  old  man  I  met ; 
His  hair  was  gray,  his  brow  was  o'ercast, 

And  his  cheeks  with  tears  were  wet. 
The  boatman  hailed  him  from  his  skiff, 

And  he  cried,  "  Oh  come  with  me, 
And  I  will  carry  you  down  the  stream, 

To  the  boundless,  open  sea  !  " 
The  old  man  raised  his  weary  head, 

"  Farewell,  farewell  !"  cried  he, 
And  the  boatman  pushed  his  bark  away, 

Down  the  flood  toward  the  open  sea. 

III. 

Again  I  followed  along  the  bank, 
Till  I  saw  a  beggar  forlorn  ; 


THE  SHADOW-BOATMAN.  93 

His  clothes  were  tattered  with  many  a  rent, 

And  his  face  was  haggard  and  worn. 
The  boatman  hailed  him  from  his  skiff, 

And  he  cried,  "  Oh  come  with  me, 
And  I  will  carry  you  down  the  stream, 

To  the  boundless,  open  sea  !  " 
The  beggar  shuffled  along  to  the  boat, 

"  Farewell,  farewell !  "  cried  he  ; 
And  the  boatman  pushed  his  bark  away, 

Down  the  flood  toward  the  open  sea. 

IV. 

Once  more  I  followed  the  gliding  boat ; 

Lo  !  a  king,  with  pageant  grand, 
Stood  gazing  upon  the  waters  deep, 

That  idly  lapped  the  sand. 
The  boatman  hailed  him  from  his  skiff, 

And  he  cried,  "  Oh  come  with  me, 


94  THE  SHADOW-BOATMAN. 

And  I  will  carry  you  down  the  stream, 
To  the  boundless,  open  sea  !  " 

Then  the  king  he  turned  about  to  his  lords  : 
"  Farewell,  farewell !  "  cried  he  ; 

And  the  boatman  pushed  his  bark  away, 
Down  the  flood  to  the  open  sea. 

V. 

And  silently  he  plied  his  oar, 

As  broader  grew  the  stream  ; 
Through  the  distant  haze  they  melted  away, 

Like  a  shadow  in  a  dream. 
But  I  heard  the  boatman  faintly  call, 

And  his  tones  still  echo  to  me, 
"  Thus  carry  I  all  down  the  silent  flood 

That  glides  to  the  open  sea  ! " 


THE  SHADOW-BOATMAN.  95 


VI. 

Thank  God  that  all  go,  for  so  shall  all  meet 

Along  that  beauteous  shore  ; 
Thank  God  that  not  always  we  linger  with  him 

Who  plies  his  ancient  oar. 
Thank  God  that  Faith  hears  a  sweeter  voice  call, 

"  All  ye  weary  ones  come  unto  Me  !  " 
Thank  God  that  the  boatman  ne'er  crosses  the  tide 

Of  the  glorious,  boundless  sea  ! 


96  NIGHT. 


NIGHT. 

ALM  Night,  with  what  a  silent  majesty 
Thou  foldest  Nature  to  thy  dewy  breast ! 
Lo  !  when  along  the  west  the  last  fair  smile 
Of  closing  eve  in  blushing  beauty  fades, 
And  on  the  quiet  fields  of  heaven  the  stars 
Unfold  their  beams  and  blossom  into  light, 
Dost  thou  not  breathe  thy  worship  unto  God  ? 
And,  from  the  soul-deep  hush  that  folds  thy  plain, 
Hold  sweet  communion  with  His  gentle  voice? 
Oft  does  the  darkness  steal  upon  my  way, 
And  gloomy  fears,  like  falling  shadows,  mar 
The  day-smile  of  my  hopes.     O  Nature  !  teach 
To  me  the  secret  of  thy  calm,  deep  trust, 
That  I,  like  thee,  may  make  the  heavy  hours 
Of  life  dear  with  the  infinite  peace  of  God  ! 


NIGHT.  97 

So  shall  the  shades  that  round  my  pathway  close 
Fold  me  as  softly  and  as  tenderly 
As  to  her  breast  the  silent  Night  folds  thee, 
And  there  shall  yet  be  beauty  in  the  gloom. 


98  "VOICES  OF  THE  NIGHTS 


"  VOICES   OF   THE   NIGHT." 

IN   MEMORY    OF   LONGFELLOW. 

WANDERED  where  the  breezes,  sad  and  light, 
Stirred  softly  through  the  solemn  forest  dim, 
And  sang,  like  spirit- voices  of  the  night, 
Among  the  leaves  their  sweet,  seolian  hymn. 


Methought  I  heard  their  words  deep  in  my  soul : 
It  may  have  been  my  fancy  framed  the  theme, 

And  gave  it  to  the  music  as  it  stole 

Among  the  trees,  and  melted  like  a  dream. 

They  may  have  been  my  fancy's  words ;  but,  ah  ! 

They  linger  in  my  heart,  and  ever  will ; 
For,  when  I  listen  by  the  evening  star, 

The  calm,  sweet  ear  of  memory  hears  them  still. 


"VOICES   OF  THE  NIGHT."  99 

"  No  more  his  gentle  feet  shall  wander  here  !  " 
So  fell  the  song  upon  the  breathing  air ; 

"  No  more  shall  Nature  whisper  in  his  ear, 

The  charm  that  soothes  the  weary  world  of  care. 

"  The  morning  dawns  and  seeks  his  smile  in  vain. 

Earth  listens,  but  his  cherished  voice  is  dumb ; 
And  daylight  dies,  and  eve  returns  again, 

And  darkness  falls,  and  yet  he  does  not  come. 

"  No  more,  no  more  his  feet  shall  wander  here  !  " 
So  died  the  song  upon  the  breathing  air ; 

And  through  the  trees  a  star  shone  still  and  clear, 
As  though  to  smile  its  consolation  there. 

I  knew  of  whom  the  mourning  voices  sung  ; 

I  too  had  missed  his  face,  with  many  tears. 
Ah  !  he  who  bears  a  blessing  on  his  tongue 

Knows  not  how  many  a  listening  spirit  hears  ! 


100  "VOICES   OF   THE  NIGHT." 

And  he  who  sings,  beside  the  way  of  life, 
A  song  dull  Sorrow's  heart  with  hope  to  fill, 

In  Time's  broad  thoroughfare  of  toil  and  strife, 
Knows  not  how  many  mourn  when  he  is  still  \ 


HIDDEN  MUSIC.  IOI 


HIDDEN  j-Mt?srcr 

i]AN  Summer  hear  the  roses  grow? 

Or  hear  the  dews,  like  tiny  crystal  bells, 

The  fairy  knell  of  evening  ring? 
A  sound  as  low  as  fall  of  snow 

To  Nature's  ear  some  tale  of  music  tells  ; 

The  very  stars  can  hear  each  other  sing. 
Then  Summer  hears  the  roses  grow, 
And  hears  the  dews,  like  crystal  bells, 

The  fairy  knell  of  evening  ring. 
And  so  the  ear  of  God  can  hear 
Our  souls  grow  pure  and  fair, 
E'en  though  our  words  stir  not  the  air, 
Nor  sign  we  make  unless  by  smile  or  tear ; 
Heaven  listens  to  the  earth  like  one  eternal  ear  ! 


102  A    VISION  OF  MUSIC. 


A  VISION   OF   MUSIC. 


LANGUOR  o'er  the  weary  minstrel  stole 

As  in  the  solitude  he  swept  his  strings ; 
A  dream  imbued  the  quiet  of  his  soul  — 
A  dream  of  joy  and  rich  imaginings  — 
As  blissful  as  the  lotus-blossom  brings 
To  storm-worn  pilgrim  cast  on  foreign  isle ; 

And  voices,  sweet  as  Venus'  bird  that  sings 
At  starry  hush  of  Summer's  midnight  smile, 
From  forms  unseen,  rose  on  the  breathing  calm  erewhile. 

II. 

Soft  echoes  melted  down  the  shadowy  hills, 
As  though  the  naiads  of  the  forest  streams 


A    VISION  OF  MUSIC.  103 

Had  gathered,  from  their  low  sad-sobbing  rills, 
To  haunt  in  harmony  his  listening  dreams,  — 
Or  float  with  spirit-song  beneath  the  beams 

Of  pale  Diana,  pensive  and  alone, 

Seeking  her  lover  shepherd-boy  with  themes 

Of  love,  till  all  her  gaze  enamoured  shone, 

As  bright  as  though  a  star  into  a  sun  had  grown. 

III. 

The  minstrel,  wrapped  in  hushed  expectancy, 
As  softly  near  the  pulsing  music  drew, 

Turned  to  the  sound,  where,  in  tranquillity, 
One  still  star  shone  the  open  forest  through, 
Fresh  as  the  curtain  of  the  falling  dew. 

There  he  beheld  a  bright,  ethereal  train 
Float  endlessly  from  solemn  heaven  blue, 

As  though  those  azure  portals,  parted  twain, 

Had  opened  earth  to  Eden's  wonderment  again. 


104  A    VISION  OF  MUSIC. 


IV. 

And  bands  of  spirits  gathered  round  him  there, 

With  foreheads  haloed  in  revealing  light, 
And  smiles  as  those  of  sinless  children  fair, 

And  forms  apparelled  in  a  lustrous  white. 

Around  the  neighboring  valley  hung  the  night ; 
Yet,  where  they  stood,  a  beauty  like  the  morn 

Shone  o'er  the  thyme  and  blossoms  dewy-bright,  — 
A  strange,  sweet  day  that  in  the  night  was  born, 
As  though  a  flower  should  blossom  on  a  leafless  thorn  ! 

V. 

In  that  celestial  host  he  recognized 

The  spirits  of  his  songs,  transformed  and  fair  ! 

A  glad  note  echoed  from  his  soul  surprised  -, 
And  when  it  melted  on  the  pregnant  air, 
Its  added  angel  joined  the  others  there. 


A    VISION  OF  MUSIC.  105 

The  songs  that  he  in  youth,  in  age,  had  sung, 

In  time  of  joy  or  sorrow,  peace  or  care, 
Around  him  now  like  glad  enchantment  hung ; 
In  harmony  unearthly  pure  their  music  rung. 

VI. 

The  songs  that  into  silence,  Beauty's  grave, 

Had  ebbed  away  as  though  to  sound  no  more, — 

The  songs  that  he  to  years  departed  gave, 

Deeming,  when  closed,  their  dear  existence  o'er,  — 
All,  all  like  echoes  rose  again  and  bore, 

The  airy  forms  elysian  spirits  bear. 

He  knew  them  only  by  their  sound  before, 

But  now  he  saw  their  heavenly  being  fair, 

And  knew  them  by  the  graces  the  undying  wear. 

VII. 

And  now  he  knew  that  on  the  glad  bright  earth 
For  all  that  bears  a  charm  there  is  no  death, 


106  A    VISION  OF  MUSIC. 

But  that  which  seems  to  die  finds  higher  birth 

In  that  fair  spot  where  Beauty  glorieth. 

He  knew  that  ever  from  this  mortal  breath 
The  joy  we  breathe  lives  on,  and  that  somewhere 

Is  treasured  up  the  good  that  mortal  saith, 
With  all  the  smiles  life's  countless  features  wear. 
We  give  our  joys  to  Heaven,  and  we   shall  find  them 
there  ! 

VIII. 

The  vision  passed  ;  and  through  the  purple  skies 

The  tide  of  morning  rose  in  waves  of  light. 
The  fading  stars  grew  dim.  like  drowsy  eyes 

That  weary,  watching  through  the  solemn  night. 

A  bank  of  sinking  cloudlets,  still  and  white, 
That  crowned  the  distant  hills  with  snowy  crest, 

Grew  softly  red  ;  while  grand  and  proud  and  bright 
The  Sun's  great  smile  broke  from  the  east  to  west, 
And  bathed  in  living  glory  Nature's  boundless  breast. 


A    VISION  QF  MUSIC.  IO/, 


IX. 

The  minstrel  woke ;  and  from  his  dulcet  lyre 
He  drew  a  strain  so  eloquently  sweet, 

So  full  of  hope  and  life  and  holy  fire, 

The  listening  birds,  in  blossom-hung  retreat, 
Came  forth  with  wondering  joy  his  face  to  greet, 

Then  joined  with  his  their  loud,  glad  morning  song. 
He  rose  and  wended  on  with  lighter  feet,  — 

No  more  he  found  his  daily  journey  long ; 

Immortal  was  his  calling,  and  his  spirit  strong  ! 


108  THE   WINTER  PILGRIM. 


THE   WINTER   PILGRIM. 
A   LEGEND. 

NEW  day  dawned  through  winter's  gate  of  snow ; 
Encased  in  crystal  cold  stood  each  white  tree ; 
Blue  was  the  cloudless  zenith,  but,  below, 
The  orient  skies  burned  like  a  golden  sea. 

The  pines,  like  warriors,  clad  in  icy  mail, 

Waved  high  their  towering  plumes  against  the  sky ; 

While,  breathing  through  the  woods  their  whispered  tale, 
The  winds  with  rustling  garments  hurried  by. 

The  Sun,  —  great  flaming  angel-face  of  day,  — 
Above  the  hills  his  dazzling  brow  revealed, 

Where,  bathed  in  light,  the  winter  glories  lay, 
And  avalanches  in  their  thunder 'pealed. 


THE    WINTER  PILGRIM.  1 09 

Through  Loraine's  drifted  village-street,  alone, 

An  aged  harper  trod  with  weary  feet ; 
The  light  of  morning  on  his  features  shone, 

But  in  his  life  the  pulse  of  evening  beat. 

His  fancy,  wrapped  with  glowing  visions  warm, 
In  memory  to  his  native  country  turned ; 

About  him  lay  the  footprints  of  the  storm, 
But  in  his  soul  Italian  summers  burned. 

He  dreamed  that  on  his  native  hills  he  trod ; 

He  heard  the  songs  his  laughing  children  sung, 
Where  arching  skies,  blue  in  the  light  of  God, 

With  Nature's  choral-incantations  rung. 

Cold  blew  the  cutting  wind  ;  the  vision  passed. 

The  skies,  aflush  with  rose  and  crimson  gay, 
By  gathering  clouds  grew  sudden  overcast, 

As  dark  as  sands  in  some  old  desert  gray. 


1 10  THE    WINTER  PILGRIM. 

He  drew  his  tattered  cloak  about  his  breast ; 

At  many  a  door  he  plead  for  shelter  warm ; 
Of  all  he  asked,  but  one  would  hear  his  quest 

And  bid  him  enter  from  the  raging  storm. 

And  who  was  she  ?     A  widow,  poor  as  he,  — 
Save  for  the  roof  whose  shelter  God  had  given ; 

Yet  willingly  the  pilgrim  welcomed  she,  — 
And  angels  have  recorded  it  in  Heaven. 

"  My  little  one  is  dying,  sire  !  "  she  said, 

"But  God  forbid  that  this  should  close  my  heart  !  " 

The  aged  pilgrim  heard  and  bowed  his  head ; 
He  too  had  known  stern  sorrow's  bitter  smart. 

"  Show  me  thy  little  one.     Where  is  she  laid?  " 
He  asked ;  and  there  was  pity  in  his  tone. 

She  led  him  softly  to  the  stricken  maid, 

Upon  whose  brow  the  peace  of  dying  shone. 


THE    WINTER   PILGRIM.  Ill 

"  Her  name  is  Gwendolen,"  the  widow  said, 
"  And  she  has  been  the  sunlight  of  my  years/' 

The  aged  pilgrim  heard,  and  bowed  his  head, 
But  saw  not,  for  his  eyes  were  dim  with  tears. 

And  then  he  raised  to  God  his  trembling  hands ; 

A  glory  like  an  angel's  lit  his  eyes ; 
He  prayed ;  and  He  who  hears  and  understands, 

E'er  from  our  lips  the  faint  petitions  rise, 

Filled  him  with  peace.     Then,  at  the  maiden's  side, 
The  aged  sire  his  treasured  harp  unbound  : 

He  swept  the  strings,  and  music  rose  and  died 
And  all  the  air  was  filled  with  holy  sound. 

It  may  have  been  that  He  who  cured  of  old 
Was  present  in  that  life-inspiring  chord ; 

It  may  be  Music's  sacred  tongue  of  gold 

On  earth  breathes  forth  the  language  of  the  Lord ; 


112  THE    WINTER  PILGRIM. 

For  Gwendolen  her  childish  arms  upraised ; 

The  color  lit  her  cheeks  ;  fled  was  her  pain. 
Her  brow  grew  bright  as  though  her  eyes  had  gazed 

At  Heaven,  to  wear  the  light  on  earth  again. 

Her  heart  grew  strong  with  pure  glad  life  renewed, 
And  from  her  dying  bed  she  rose  and  sang, 

While  from  the  barren  floor  to  rafter  rude 
The  humble  cottage  with  the  music  rang. 

At  eve  the  hoary  pilgrim  left  the  door ; 

And  they  who,  watching,  saw  him  pass  away, 
Thought  that  it  was  the  angel  of  the  poor, 

Who  cured  the  widow's  dying  child  that  day. 

For  all  his  face,  they  said,  with  glory  shone  — * 
With  a  bright  aureole  of  holy 'light  j 

And  they  who  left  him  in  the  storm  alone, 
Made  many  a  prayer  of  penitence  that  night. 


THE    WINTER  PILGRIM.  113 

Far  toward  the  northern  hills  he  took  his  way ; 

And,  when  the  sunset  left  the  wintry  skies, 
Through  Heaven's  glittering  gate  of  stars,  they  say, 

Bright  spirits  led  him  into  Paradise. 


SONNETS. 


IN   THE  WOODS. 

IS  sweet  from  busy  scenes  to  steal  away, 
And  roam  the  quiet  woods,  free  and  alone, 
Where  drowsy  winds,  with  soothing  undertone, 
The  languid  music  of  the  forest  play, 
Charming  from  thought  the  busy  cares  of  day. 
Oh,  where  may  Pleasure  find  a  richer  throne 
Than  some  gray  rock  with  mosses  overgrown, 
Begemmed  with  dew,  and  decked  with  budding  spray? 

There,  where  the  silver  streams  glide  babbling  by, 
The  blossoms  spring,  as  though  some  magic  power, 

Grieving  to  let  so  sweet  a  music  die, 
-Had  turned  each  water-note  into  a  flower, 

To  smile  refreshing  beauty  where  the  eye 
Of  Sorrow  might  find  pleasure  for  an  hour. 


1 1 8  MY  PL  A  YMA  TE. 


MY   PLAYMATE. 

?|ING  me  a  song  of  those  all-happy  hours 

When  with  my  little  playmate,  fair  and  true, 
At  sound  of  bell  that  told  of  lessons  through, 
From  school  I  wandered  homeward  through  the  flowers. 
Sing  of  the  butterflies,  the  meadow  bovvers, 

The  bee  that  droned  the  one  long  song  he  knew, 
Till,  with  the  parting  smile  of  day,  the  dew 
Fell  on  the  plain  in  silent,  unseen  showers. 

Sing  softly  of  my  little  playmate  fair ; 
For  if  in  Heaven  her  smiling  angel  hears, 

Perchance  she  will  remember  even  there, 
How  her  hand  closed  in  mine  in  those  sweet  years ; 

Perchance  in  pity  she  will  breathe  a  prayer. 
For  ah  !  she  died,  and  left  me  here  in  tears  ! 


OUT  OF  THE  DARK.         119 


OUT  OF  THE  DARK. 

AY,  like  a  flower,  blossoms  from  the  night, 
And  all  things  beautiful  arise  from  things 
That  bear  a  lesser  grace.     The  lily  springs 
Pure  as  an  angel's  soul,  and  just  as  white, 
From  out  the  dark  clod  where  no  ray  of  light 
E'er  creeps.     The  butterfly,  on  airy  wings, 
Rises  from  the  cold  chrysalis  that  clings 
To  some  dead,  mouldering  leaflet,  hid  from  sight. 
If  thus  in  Nature  all  things  good  and  fair, 
And  all  things  that  the  grace  of  beauty  wear, 
Begotten  are  of  things  that  show  no  charm, 

Then  will  I  seek  to  find  in  every  care 
And  every  sorrow,  and  in  all  the  harm 

That  comes  to  me,  a  pleasure  sweet  and  rare. 


120  THE  MEMORY  OF  PLEASURE. 


THE   MEMORY   OF   PLEASURE. 

j"  HE  memory  of  a  pleasure  passed  away 

Makes  music  in  the  soul,  —  as,  from  a  strain 
Of  cherished  song,  the  theme  may  long  remain 
To  charm  the  mild,  sweet  ear  of  thought,  and  play 
In  reverie  the  oft-returning  lay. 

A  pleasure  perished  lives  in  thought  again, 
As,  far  reflected  to  the  starry  train, 
The  glory  lives  of  a  departed  day. 

O  golden  hours,  lost  in  the  long  ago, 
Your  beauty  shall  not  sink  to  darkness  cold ; 

Up  from  your  graves  your  springing  memories  grow, 
Like  roses  blossoming  above  the  mould. 
In  all  that 's  fair  a  deathless  being  dwells, 
And  from  the  Past  a  joy  forever  swells. 


A   PORTRAIT.  121 


A    PORTRAIT. 

?|WEET  eyes  that  light  a  mild  and  modest  face, 
Reflections  of  a  spirit  pure  and  bright,  — 
With  just  a  tinge  of  sadness  in  their  light, 
That  yet  is  not  a  sadness,  but  a  grace 
Where  tender  thoughts  do  find  a  dwelling-place  ; 

Sweet-moulded  lips,  from  whence  the  words  take  flight 
Gently  as  birds  that,  with  a  pure  delight, 
Sing  where  the  twilight  shadows  interlace  ; 

A  brow  that  is  a  temple  all  divine, 
Where  holy  thoughts  to  deep  communion  steal, 
Like  noiseless  spirits,  that  to  some  still  shrine 
Go  at  the  hush  of  eve  in  prayer  to  kneel ; 
But  gentle  one,  that  lovely  face  of  thine 
Its  own  pure  beauty  may  alone  reveal. 


122  BY  THE  FIRESIDE. 


BY  THE   FIRESIDE. 

HEN  skies  are  cold  with  wintry  stars,  and  hills 
Are  white  with  yester-even's  snow,  and  lie 
In  ghostly  state  beneath  the-  ghostly  sky ; 
When  many  a  gusty  blast  the  darkness  fills 
With  ever  lonely,  homeless  sound,  and  chills 

The  window  panes  with  frost ;  when  crackling  fly 
The  sparks  about  the  hearth,  and  glow  and  die, 
While  in  the  pause  his  note  the  cricket  trills ; 

Oh,  then  how  dear  is  home  !  and  what  a  sense 
Of  ruddy  warmth  and  peace  beguiles  the  mind  ! 
And  what  a  charm  in  listening  while  the  wind 

Blows  fierce  outside,  through  Winter's  starry  tents, 
And  dies  away  around  the  window-pane, 
And  ever  rises  loud,  and  dies  again  ! 


LIFE  AND  DEATH,  123 


LIFE   AND   DEATH. 

'  F  yonder  sun  had  an  eternal  voice, 

And  from  each  star  celestial  numbers  rung ; 
If  each  sweet  flower  had  a  gentle  tongue, 
Mid  sun  and  dew  to  breathe  its  music  choice ; 
If  from  the  very  ground  melodious  noise       * 
Rose  solemnly  the  hills  and  vales  among, 
And  each  fair  tree  with  singing  leaflets  hung,  — • 
Then  Day  and  Night  in  concord  would  rejoice. 

So  if  the  wondrous  things  of  life  and  death, 
With  voices  grand  might  from  their  dumbness  break, 

And,  blending  in  one  full  triumphant  breath, 
Their  own  immortal  revelation  make  ; 

Then  would  we   know  how  Death,  whose   name   we 

wrong, 
Must  join  with  Life  to  make  one  perfect  song. 


124  ALONE. 


ALONE. 


STOOD,  a  stranger,  on  a  foreign  shore  ; 
It  was  a  Sabbath  evening,  and  the  rim 
Of  the  low  moon  rose  o'er  the  ocean's  brim. 
One  small,  white  cot  the  lonely  beaches  bore ; 
And,  softly  stealing  from  the  open  door, 

Rose  on  my  ear  the  fisher's  evening  hymn,  — 
A  holy  psalm  that  crossed  the  beaches  dim, 
And  died  the  solitary  waters  o'er. 

A  solemn  sound,  that  seemed  to  harmonize  — 
The  sad,  eternal  murmur  of  the  sea  — 

Rose  from  the  waves,  and,  on  the  darkening  skies, 
The  quiet  stars  dawned  in  tranquillity. 

Ah,  then  it  was  with  memories  fond,  and  sighs, 
My  native  land,  I  yearned  and  wept  for  thee. 


DREAMLAND.  12$ 


DREAMLAND. 

j|HEN  gentle  Sleep,  upon  her  balmy  wings. 

Wafts  down  her  peace  to  calm  the  weary  brain ; 
When  s,weet  forgetfulness  of  woe  or  pain 
A  soothing  influence  o'er  the  spirit  brings ; 
When,  marshalled  from  their  varied  wanderings, 
The  thoughts  are  stayed  in  all  their  busy  chain, 
Then  siren  Fancy  leads  her  airy  train 
Through   that    fair    realm    where    Dreamland's   fountain 

springs.     % 

She  breathes  enchantment,  and  the  air  is  stirred 
With  soulful  sounds,  —  the  purl  of  distant  rills, 
The  sigh  of  winds,  the  note  of  some  far  bird, 
Or  tinkling  shepherd-bell  among  the  hills. 
Ah  !  while  we  listen  to  her  tranquil  themes 
There  dwells  a  sweet  reality  in  dreams  ! 


126  IN  WAVERLEY. 


IN   WAVERLEY. 

do  the  wild  flowers,  jewels  of  the  Spring, 
Lie  on  the  bosom  of  the  emerald  hills ; 
Here  do  the  low,  far  voices  of  the  rills 
Haunt  day  and  night  with  liquid  murmuring ; 
Here  to  our  song-pleased  ears,  at  sunset,  sing 
The  pleasure-breathing  birds,  till  Memory  fills 
Her  heart  with  dreams  to  last  when  Autumn  chills 
The  earth,  and  Winter's  windy  trumpets  ring ; 

Here  stand  the  ancient  oaks  renowned  and  hoar, 
The  vernal  monuments  of  time  untold, 

For  countless  winds  have  listened  to  their  roar, 
And  Springs  unnumbered  clad  their  branches  old, 
And  here,  like  some  grand  organ  of  the  wood, 
The  cascade  thunders  in  its  solitude. 


MY  MOTHER'S  PORTRAIT.  1 27 


MY   MOTHER'S   PORTRAIT. 

jjH,  would  this  unskilled  hand  of  mine  might  trace, 
And  carve  in  verse  the  picture  that  I  hold, 
That  from  a  poem's  clear  and  quiet  mould 
The  world  might  know,  in  many  a  distant  place, 
And  smile  to  know,  a  thing  so  full  of  grace. 

Time  crowns  with  silver  Summer's  changing  gold ; 
But  here  his  light  and  gentle  touch  has  told 
No  frosty  tale  of  years  on  Summer's  face. 

These  eyes  are  ever  clear  as  pleasant  skies, 
That  bear  the  soft,  still  joy  of  evening's  hue  ; 

Across  their  light  no  clouds  are  seen  to  rise, 
Though  there  Affection's  thoughts  suffuse  like  dew. 

Ah  me  !  that  every  soul  on  earth  that  sighs 
The  sunlight  of  so  sweet  a  presence  knew. 


128  SUMMER  IN  WINTER. 


SUMMER   IN   WINTER. 

jjHOUGH,  wrapped  in  quiet  dreams,  the  gentle 

flowers 
Beneath  the  frosty  turf  are  slumbering  ; 

Though  stormy  Winter,  stern  and  cruel  king, 
Strips  bare  the  thorny  shrubs  and  lonely  bowers, 
Of  all  their  bloom  ;  though  in  the  evening  hours 

No  happy  bird  flits  by  on  silent  wing, 

And  sings  till  wood  and  dale  seem  listening ; 
Though  earth  is  chilled  by  Death's  unfeeling  powers, 

Yet  in  my  heart  so  dear  a  picture  glows, 
Of  leafy  'dells  and  rilte  and  waving  fields, 
That  sunlight  o'er  the  dreary  landscape  steals, 

And  flowers  seem  to  blossom  from  the  snows. 
'T  is  thus  in  life  that  memory  reveals, 

Mid  all  our  storms,  some  scene  of  sweet  repose  ! 


THE  SNOWSTORM.  129 

THE   SNOWSTORM. 

• 

To  G.  A. 

HE  morning  skies  are  dull  and  streaked  with  gray  ; 
And  silently  upon  the  frosty  air 
The  scattered  snowflakes  flutter  here  and  there, 
And  skip  and  dance  like  fairies  in  their  play, 
Poising  awhile,  then  frolicking  away. 

Noon  comes,  and  lo  !  the  hills,  that  were  so  bare, 
Are  robed  in  dazzling  garments,  pure  and  fair ; 
The  trees  seem  blossoming  in  some  strange  way ; 

And  when  once  more  the  air  towards  evening  clears, 
And  when  the  fleecy  shower  of  white  subsides, 

A  wondrous  transformation  then  appears  ! 
The  barren  ground  .from  sight  so  closely  hides 
Beneath  that  stainless  spread,  it  almost  seems 
As  though  we  gaze  upon  the  land  of  dreams  ! 


13°  SUNSET. 


SUNSET.^ 

VE  watches  at  the  portals  of  the  west, 

Looking  upon  the  world  with  longing  eyes,  — 
Invisible  until  the  peaceful  skies 
Shall  fade,  and  weary  Day  shall  sink  to  rest. 
Earth  bears  a  solemn  hush  upon  her  breast, 
And  all  is  still.     A  few  fair  clouds  arise, 
Like  pilgrims  from  the  south,  whose  journey  lies, 
Gilded  with  light,  far  o'er  the  mountain's  crest. 

Eve  softly  enters.     As  the  glorious  sun 
Rides  o'er  the  hills,  a  moment  doth  he  gaze 

With  rapture  on  her  brow ;  her  smile  is  won 
Ere  he  departs ;  and,  blushing  'neath  his  rays, 
She  hides  her  face  upon  the  ethereal  blue, 
Till  heaven  is  mantled  with  the  beauteous  hue. 


A    HOPE. 


A    HOPE, 
t 


BLEW  a  tiny  bubble  on  the  air ; 
The  sunbeams  painted  rainbows  pure  and  bright 
Upon  it,  and  it  shone  with  mystic  light. 
I  stretched  my  hand  to  take  the  treasure  fair ; 
It  vanished  at  my  touch,  and  naught  was  there 
Except  the  gathered  moisture.     From  the  night 
I  sent  a  Hope  ;  and  soft  winds  on  their  flight 
Into  the  future  bore  it  like  a  prayer. 
Day  broke.     A  thousand  golden  sunbeams  clear 
Enveloped  it  with  smiles ;  but  when  I  thought 
To  grasp  my  Hope,  I  deemed  not  what  I  sought 
Was  far  too  sweet  a  pleasure,  far  too  dear, 

E'er  to  be  mine.     No  joy  to  me  it  brought : 
Its  melting  beauty  gathered  in  a  tear  ! 


132  BY  THE  SEA. 


BY  THE   SEA. 

HE  soft  waves  murmur  on  the  foamy  sand, 
With  voices  tuned  to  minor  cadence  low, 
As  the  great  Ocean,  pulsing  to  and  fro, 
Breathes  out  his  measured  music  o'er  the  land. 
Here  clamber  not  the  breakers  loud  and  grand, 
Falling  amid  their  clouds  of  frothy  snow  ; 
A  milder  power  turns  the  ebb  and  flow 
Along  the  marges  of  this  solemn  strand. 

Oft  have  I  heard  such  ceaseless  sounds  arise 
From  out  some  mighty  city's  busy  walls, 

Where  the  vast  sea  of  proud  ambitions  lies, 
And  the  great  tide  of  labor  swells  and  falls ; 
And  I  have  listened  with  half- misty  eyes, 
As  now  I  listen  where  the  sad  sea  calls. 


TO  A    CAPTIVE   BIRD.  133 


TO   A   CAPTIVE   BIRD. 

O  more,  dear  Bird,  upon  the  dewy  leas 

Thy  matin  song  shall  charm  the  fragrant  air  ! 
No  more  thy  liquid  notes  of  music  rare 
Shall  echo  softly  through  the  rustling  trees  ! 
No  more  the  passing  of  the  midnight  breeze 
Shall  rock  thee  with  a  mild,  unconscious  care. 
As,  slumbering  with  folded  pinions  fair, 
Thou  dreamest  of  the  woodland  melodies  ! 
O  little  captive  Bird,  —  I  could  not  sing 
If  I  were  parted  from  ,my  native  home  ; 

Then  how  canst  thou  make  such  sweet  twittering? 
Knowest  thou  not  thy  little  mate  doth  roam 

The  hill  and  moor,  like  some  lone  sorrowing  thing, 
Mourning  that  when  she  calls  thou  dost  not  come  ? 


134  THE  SKIES. 


THE    SKIES. 

CALM,  fair  Skies,  a  tender  mystery 
Lies  in  your  soundless  depths  of  silent  blue  ! 
From  your  still  bosom  falls  the  noiseless  dew 
So  softly  down  upon  the  flowery  lea, 
No  mortal  vision  may  its  passage  see. 
Each  glowing  morn  ye  wear  a  pleasure  new ; 
For  the  long  years  fade  not  that  azure  hue 
Whose  beauty  is  a  sweet  eternity. 

Dear  God,  I  know  thy  ways  are  mild  and  fair, 
So  gentle  a  heaven  doth  thy  works  enshrine, 

And  e'en  did  not  my  lowly  spirit  bear 
The  knowledge  of  thy  lofty  name  divine, 

My  soul  would  seek  its  unknown  Maker  where 
Day  smiles,  and  evening  stars  unnumbered  shine. 


A    RAINY  NIGHT  IN  THE   CITY.          135 


A   RAINY   NIGHT  IN   THE   CITY. 

r|ARK  !  how  the  wind  blows  'gainst  the  window- 
pane, 
Sighing  and  whispering  with  a  dismal  moan  ! 

And  how,  with  ever-mournful,  dreary  tone, 
Comes  constantly  the  pattering  of  the  rain,  — 
Lulling  awhile,  then  suddenly  again 

Beating  with  restless  sob  !     How  strange  and  lone 

It  sounds  !     Anon  a  neighboring  blind  is  blown 
With  startling  crash ;  the  hinges  creak  and  strain ; 

And  out  upon  the  distant,  stone-paved  street 
A  heavy  cart  rolls  by,  its  noise  nigh  drowned 

By  splashing  waterspouts.     The  horse's  feet 
Clash  with  a  dampness  in  the  very  sound  ; 

And  when  at  last  die  out  those  rumbling  wheels, 

Ah,  what  a  loneliness  upon  us  steals  ! 


136  WINTER  IN  NEW  HAMPSHIRE. 


A  WINTER   NIGHT   IN    NEW    HAMPSHIRE. 

LUE  starry  skies ;  hills  dreaming  in  their  snows, 
Their  silent  whiteness  high  against  the  west ; 
The  crescent  moon  along  their  silver  crest 
A  golden  flood  of  blending  beauty  throws. 
Beneath,  the  leafless  forests  grim  repose, 

Where  cold  and  dreary  shadows  brooding  rest, 
Like  melancholy  spirits  that  infest 
The  lonely  scenes  of  their  mysterious  woes. 

Nearer,  a  rough,  untravelled  road,  where  .stands 
A  log-built  cabin,  from  whose  heavy  panes 

A  flickering  light  streams  o'er  the  neighboring  lands. 
Close  by,  a  tree  where  not  a  leaf  remains, 
Stretching  aloft  his  naked,  frosty  hands  ; 
And  over  all  a  solemn  silence  reigns. 


SOUL  HARMONY.  137 


SOUL   HARMONY. 

smiles  the  Moon  on  heaven's  ethereal  plain, 
A  quiet  glory  charms  her  silver  sheen, 
As  silently,  and  with  a  brow  serene, 
She  leads  across  the  night  her  shining  train. 
Listen,  my  raptured  soul !     What  holy  strain 
Of  distant  music  robes  that  lovely  scene,  — 
Swells  solemnly  the  wooded  hills  between, 
And  echoes  from  the  stars  in  soft  refrain  ? 

O  voiceless  night  !    O  slumbering  vales  and  hills  ! 
Your  music,  like  the  melody  that  springs 

From  dreams,  breathes  but  a  fancied  note,  that  fills 
The  silent  air  with  sweet  imaginings  : 

No  sound,  no  voice  the  outward  hearing  thrills  ; 
'T  is  in  the  soul  the  harmonious  language  rings. 


138  TO   SLEEP. 


TO   SLEEP. 

|)OME,  silent-footed  Sleep,  with  soothing  draught, 
The  dark  ambrosial  wine  of  nightly  shade, 
Till,  pillowed  soft  in  downy  dreams,  is  laid 
To  deep,  unconscious  peace  the  brow  of  Thought. 
Mother  of  Rest,  —  so  near  while  yet  unsought, 
With  noiseless  wings  and  drowsy  whisper  made 
To  calm  the  anxious  heart  that  beats  afraid,  — 
O  come,  and  bring  that  balm  by  worlds  unbought  ! 

Far  shine  the  smiling  stars  in  glittering  throng ; 
And  Silence  listens  in  the  heavens  deep, 

As  though  to  catch  the  murmur,  low  and  long, 
Of  distant  seas  that  endless  converse  keep. 

A  hush  like  that  at  close  of  some  faint  song 
Enfolds  the  earth.     Then  come,  O  corne,  sweet  Sleep  ! 


SCULPTURE.  139 

SCULPTURE. 
To  F.  E.  E. 

HE  history  of  the  world  is  carved  in  stone  ; 
E'en  Nature  speaks  from  monuments,  that  bear 
The  chiselled  record  of  Time's  busy  care, 
And  note  the  events  that  infinite  years  make  known. 
'T  is  not  the  sounding  tongue  that  speaks  alone  ; 
The  silent  hills  a  wondrous  theme  declare, 
And,  though  an  everlasting  hush  they  wear, 
Proclaim  the  lofty  tale  of  ages  flown. 

O  sculptor  !  since  the  noble  gift  is  thine, 
To  grave  the  lines  of  Beauty's  living  grace,  — 

Is  not  thy  call  akin  to  work  divine  ?  — 
Since  death  thy  changeless  task  may  not  efface, 
Since  God,  through  nature,  thus  imprints  for  aye, 
Immortal  lines  upon  earth's  mortal  clay? 


140  LIGHT  AND   SHADOW. 


LIGHT  AND   SHADOW. 

(]UR  bodies  are  the  shadows  of  our  souls, 
And  shadow  only  melts  because  of  light ; 
As  melts  at  morn  the  memory  of  the  night, 
When  God  the  golden  hour  of  day  unrolls, 
And  Labor's  tide  sweeps  high  on  Time's  stern  shoals ; 
Yet  do  our  tongues  grow  dumb,  our  faces  white, 
That  from  the  watch-tower  hid  on  Memory's  height, 
Death's  curfew  for  the  dying  ever  tolls. 
If  somewhere  hidden  in  the  voiceless  dark, 

Where  Love's  lost  mysteries  in  silence  mould, 
There  be  a  bright  existence,  yet  to  mark 
The  zenith  of  a  blessedness  untold,  — 
It  is  a  happy  moment  when  the  spark 
Of  this  first  life  expires  in  ashes  cold. 


TO  SILENCE.  141 


TO   SILENCE. 

*|ILD  soother  of  the  wounded  heart,  and  sire 
Of  sweet  forgetfulness  and  pleasant  sleep  ! 
Dear  charm  that  fittest  night  from  deep  to  deep, 
Till  hushed  to  rest  is  Nature's  tuneful  choir, 
And  Thought  bows  dreaming  o'er  her  song-worn  lyre,  — 
How  Memory  loves  thee,  when  from  steep  to  steep 
The  rising  stars  their  noiseless  vigil  keep,  — 
Those  golden  beauties,  clear  as  flakes  of  fire  ! 

When  the  bright  pageants  of  the  passing  day 
Are  lost  in  secret  Night's  o'ershadowed  vales, 

And  from  their  harbor,  sleep,  dreams  drift  away, 
Like  pleasure-barks  that  float  with  idle  sails  ; 
Then  Fancy  calls  with  silver  tongue  to  thee, 
And  fills  with  music  a)l  thy  slumber-sea. 


R44465 


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